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UNIVERSITY  Of 
CALIFORN4A 

S    N  DIEGO 


J 


presented  to  the 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  •  SAN  DIEGO 

by 

FRIENDS  OF  THE  LIBRARY 

MR.   JOHN  C.   ROSE 


donor 


I  .  •«• 


\%°U 


TU?  .jNWEkSITf  LIBRAM 

CAUfORNIA,  SAN  DUMW 

•"*"-      UV  JOLLA,  CAUFORNIA 


THE  HERB-MOON 

A  FANTASIA 

BY 

John  Oliver  Hobbes 

AUTHOR   OF 

SOME  EMOTIONS  AND  A  MORAL 

A  STUDY  IN   TEMPTATIONS 

THE  SINNER'S  COMEDY 

A  BUNDLE  OF  LIRE 


*Uw  Jgorfc  atrt  lonton 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  i8q6 
By  FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

Copyright,  i8g6 

By  THE  PRESS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

(The  New  York  World) 

All  Rights  Reserved 


CONTENTS. 


I.    Which  Explains  a  Situation       •           «  5 

IL    Philosophy  and  Vegetables  .           .  37 

EI.    What  the  Herb-Moon  Means      .           .  44 
IV.    Which    Shows    that    Lovers    can    at 

Times  Talk  Reason         ♦           .  61 

V.    Susan  Sheds  Tears  .  .  .73 

VL    Some  Soliloquies        ...  78 

VH.    Two  Gentlemen  of  the  Old  School      .  88 

VIE.    Introducing  a  Lady  Who  Disapproved 

of  Cynicism            .           .           .  100 
DC    Concerning    Heroes,    Sorrow,    and    a 

Horse 109 

X.    In  which  Susan  has  cause  to  Remem- 
ber Rose  Arden      .           .           .  142 
XL    Chaste  Conversation  Coupled  with  Fear  152 
XII.    Concerning  a  Goddess  of  Mortal  Speech  165 
XIEL    In  which  Mrs.  Harrowby  is  Eloquent    .  179 
XTV.    A   Lady    Talks   Sense  "and    Comedy 

Looks  Tearful      .           .           «  197 

XV.    The  Question  of  Edward's  Soul            .  219 
XVL    In  which  Rose  has  to    Restrain  Her 

Sympathies           ...  242 

XVIL    Some  Ways  of  Bearing  Affliction  260 

XVIIL    In  which  a  Few  are  Found  Faithful  268 

XIX.    TheLaat      ....  285 


THE  HERB -MOON 

H  fantasia. 
CHAPTER  L 

Which  Explains  a  Situation. 

MlSS  Crecy,  the  rich  brewer's  only 
daughter,  threatened  to  walk  if  her  ponies 
did  not  trot  faster. 

"  Whip  the  little  creatures,"  she  told  her 
coachman,  "  but  do  not  hurt  them  !  " 

They  ambled  through  long  winding 
roads  hedged  with  white-thorn  and 
black-thorn  ;  past  wheat-fields,  bean-fields, 
fields  of  barley  ;  past  wide  stretches  of 
meadow  enameled  with  buttercups  and 
clover;  past  farmyards  and  little  houses 
facing  lawns ;  past  inns  and  churches  and 
the  cemetery  where  sheep1 '  s-parsley— with 


6  The  Herb-Moon. 

its  long  green  stems  and  white  delicate 
flowers — waved  over  the  graves,  almost 
as  high  as  the  headstones.  There  were 
windmills  and  many  small  cottages  to  be 
seen  either  near  or  in  the  distance ;  and 
lanes,  marked  out  by  tall  poplars  or 
young  elms,  ash  and  maple.  Overhead 
the  sun  shone  out  with  a  sleepy  brilliance, 
and  gray  clouds,  like  a  swarm  of  fantas- 
tic pigeons,  roamed,  driven  by  the  breeze, 
across  the  sky. 

As  the  phaeton  turned  a  sudden  corner, 
Miss  Crecy  saw,  some  few  yards  ahead,  a 
young  man,  walking.  He  was  tall,  with 
fine  square  shoulders  and  a  resolute  face. 

"  Can  I  give  you  a  lift,  Mr.  Robsart  ?  " 
said  the  lady,  when  she  reached  him. 

"  Thanks,"  he  replied,  and  stepped  in 
beside  her. 

Robsart  was  a  clerk  in  a  cotton  factory, 
and  hoped,  in  time,  to  occupy  the  post  of 
overseer,  formerly  held  by  his  father,  now 
dead.       The   situation    demanded    good 


Which  Explains  a  Situation.  7 

sense,  patience,  honesty,  and  every  long 
virtue  ;  it  belonged  to  that  graceless  order 
of  responsibilities  where  the  least  mistake 
causes  immense  confusion,  and  the  most 
scrupulous  attention  is  accepted  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course.  Neither  enthusiasm  nor 
vanity  had  the  smallest  play  in  Robsart's 
life :  it  was  all  a  question  of  duty  and  con- 
science and  self-respect.  Sometimes  he 
resented  its  dullness  and  read  about  kings. 
His  own  history,  however,  had  not  been 
uneventful.  At  the  time  of  his  birth,  his 
father  was  senior  partner  in  the  honorable 
firm — first  established  in  1700 — of  Rob- 
sart  &  Son,  cotton  spinners.  The  lad  was 
educated  in  the  belief  that  he  would,  if 
he  lived,  inherit  the  business  and  advance 
a  step  further  than  his  ancestors  by  repre- 
senting his  native  town  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  He  was  sent  to  Eton,  and 
proceeded  to  Cambridge,  where,  at  the  end 
of  his  first  year,  he  was  summoned  to 
Ottley,  to    find    his    father    a   bankrupt, 


8  The  Herb-Moon. 

their  home  under  the  hammer,  and  the 
factory  sold  to  a  Mr.  Saxe,  of  Notting- 
ham. It  was  a  deadening  blow.  Old 
Robsart  was  an  easy-tempered  body, 
who,  so  long  as  he  had  a  horse,  good  wine 
and  the  best  tobacco,  asked  little  of  any 
one.  He  had  married  the  daughter  of 
a  famous  Methodist,  and  having  killed 
her — not  by  cruelty  but  by  his  want  of 
religion  (she  had  endeavored  to  make  him 
a  Christian,  and  perished  from  the  hu- 
miliation of  her  defeat) — he  took  for  his 
second  wife  a  widow  with  a  pinched 
waist  and  easy  morals,  who,  because  she 
did  not  dye  her  hair,  was  called  no  harder 
name  than  injudicious  for  scattering 
money  as  if  it  were  sawdust  and  drinking 
champagne  by  the  pint.  Robsart  the 
son  was  always  courteous  to  this  lady — 
with  Cromwell,  "  he  liked  not  war  on 
women  " — but  he  chafed  in  secret  to  think 
that  such  a  being  could  please  the  man 
his   mother  had   loved   and   prayed   for. 


Which  Explains  a  Situation,  9 

The  disgrace  of  the  bankruptcy  tried  his 
proud  spirit  so  far  that  he  could  only  live 
by  reminding  himself  that  he  might  in 
time  and  by  working  pay  every  creditor 
to  the  full  and  restore  the  family's  injured 
integrity.  The  older  Robsart,  with  that 
distressing  meekness  which  fills  up  the 
loss  of  self-respect,  accepted  the  position 
of  a  salaried  servant  in  the  factory  estab- 
lished by  his  forefathers.  All  forced 
virtue  is  degrading  in  its  effect.  Robsart 
senior  withered  away  in  his  attempt  to 
act  divine  characteristics  with  a  heart 
convulsed  by  every  human  instinct  of 
jealousy  and  resentment.  His  native 
good-humor  failed  him  after  the  novelty 
of  a  subordinate  post  became  merged  in 
mere  routine.  To  be  reprimanded  for  un- 
punctuality — (he  liked  to  rise  at  noon),  to 
make  way  for  Mr.  Saxe,  to  be  forbidden 
his  cigar  during  office  hours — these  were 
the  restrictions  which  stopped  his  breath. 
He  could  meet  his  unpaid  butcher,  but 


io  The  Herb-Moon. 

he  could  not  go  out  to  luncheon  at  the 
sound  of  the  yard  bell.  He  died  in  a 
twelvemonth.  His  wife  did  not  long  sur- 
vive him.  She  became  annoyed  with  her 
dressmaker,  who  used  an  inferior  silk  for 
the  lining  of  her  funeral  robes.  A  petty 
law-suit  ensued,  and  the  little  legacy  left 
her  by  her  husband  was  just  sufficient  to 
pay  the  costs  of  that  litigation  and  her 
burial  fees.  This  sordid,  unbeautiful  fin- 
ish to  the  hopes  of  Robsart's  boyhood, 
made  a  sad  beginning  for  the  second 
epoch  in  his  career.  A  less  courageous 
nature  would  have  fled  from  the  scene  of 
disappointment — seeking  forgetfulness 
in  new  surroundings,  and  a  reputation 
where  his  father  was  unknown.  But  he 
chose  instead  to  remain  at  Ottley.  At 
first,  he  was  looked  upon  with  a  certain 
mistrust,  but  before  a  year  had  passed, 
he  was  treated  as  a  gentleman  by  the 
gentry  and  as  a  scholar  by  the  poor. 
His  sad    expression    made   him    popular 


"Which  Explains  a  Situation.  n 

with  women,  and  his  poverty  saved  him 
from  the  envy  of  less  handsome  rivals. 
Too  poor  to  mix  with  the  young  men  of 
his  own  education,  and  too  refined  to  asso- 
ciate on  any  terms  of  intimacy  with  his 
inferiors,  too  proud  to  accept  hospitalities 
he  could  not  return,  and  too  ambitious  to 
be  easily  resigned  to  a  life  of  obscurity 
and  loneliness,  his  existence  was  often  a 
burden  to  himself  and  always  an  enigma 
to  his  friends. 

Miss  Crecy,  as  she  surveyed  him  slyly, 
spoke,  in  maternal  accents,  of  his  pallor, 
his  evident  ill-health.  He  was  growing 
thin  ;  he  needed  a  change ;  would  he  be 
at  the  cricket-match  to-morrow  ?  Was  he 
not  glad  that  croquet  was  coming  into 
fashion,  and  had  he  heard  that  Mr.  Pope- 
lard  was  engaged  ?  No  one  had  seen  his 
intended,  but  his*  mother  looked  greatly 
relieved,  so,  no  doubt,  he  was  doing  very 
well  for  himself.  Ottley  was  not  a  marry- 
ing place.     The  girls  with  money  wanted 


12  The  Herb-Moon. 

Army  men,  and  the  men  with  prospects 
wanted  to  keep  their  liberty.  For  her 
part,  she  put  love  before  everything. 
But  perhaps  she  was  sentimental. 

By  this  time,  the  ponies  had  reached 
the  gates  of  a  property  known  in  the 
neighborhood  as  Wentworth  Place,  for- 
merly the  homestead  of  the  Robsarts,  and 
now  the  residence  of  Mr.  Saxe,  the  cot- 
ton-spinner. 

"  I  am  going  to  tea  with  Mrs.  Saxe," 
exclaimed  Miss  Crecy.  She  would  have 
taken  Robsart  much  further  if  he  had  but 
promised  to  attend  the  cricket-match ; 
as  it  was,  she  found  him  too  ungrateful 
a  person  for  a  young  lady  of  her  fortune 
and  amiability  to  waste  time  with. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  she. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  he. 

His  lodgings  were  at  an  old  farmhouse 
a  mile  or  two  beyond,  and,  as  he  turned 
away  from  the  chestnut  avenue  of  Went- 
worth Place  the  home  of  his  fathers  for 


Which  Explains  a  Situation*  13 

six  generations,  the  way  before  him 
looked  steep  and  desolate.  He  had  long 
passed  that  dramatic  hour  in  grief  when 
the  very  unexpectedness  of  the  pang 
gives  it  at  least  the  interest  of  a  new  ex- 
perience. But  now  it  had  become  a  stale 
and  voiceless  sorrow — there  was  no  more 
to  be  thought,  or  said,  or  done,  and  it 
was  only  when  he  felt  a  tightening  of  his 
heart  that  he  knew  that  some  sight  or 
word  had  called  the  past  once  more  to 
his  remembrance. 

They  were  felling  the  elm-trees  which 
lined  at  grassy  intervals  the  road ;  sev- 
eral great  branches  lay  hewn  upon  the 
ground,  and,  here  and  there,  a  weeping 
willow  or  a  small  yew  or  a  holly  bush 
studded  the  turf.  There  was  a  horseless 
wagon  in  an  enclosure  beyond  where  a 
boy  with  a  scythe  stood,  eating  bread  and 
butter,  by  a  grindstone.  He  dropped 
the  scythe  to  touch  his  cap  to  Robsart. 

The    path     to    Wrestle's    Farm     ran 


i4  The  Herb-Moon* 

through  a  wide,  flat  meadow,  where  chick- 
ens were  cooped,  cattle  fed,  and  the  la- 
borers' children  played.  Now  a  jackdaw, 
now  a  magpie,  now  a  rook  and  now  a 
crow  winged  through  the  air,  and  the 
incessant  twittering  of  birds  made  the 
stillness  noisy.  The  house — half  sur- 
rounded by  a  moat  which  served  as  a 
duck-pond — was  small  and  moss-grown, 
two  stories  high  and  with  three  windows 
only.  One  could  step  in  at  the  front 
door  and  out  at  the  back  in  five  strides. 
Robsart's  parlor,  which  he  shared  with 
the  parish  organist  and  the  organist's  sis- 
ter, Mrs.  Arden,  was  in  the  right  wing — as 
far  as  possible  from  the  cow-shed,  the 
teeming  hay-yard,  and  the  half-filled 
stables.  To-day,  as  he  reached  the 
threshold,  a  shower,  which  had  been 
threatening  for  some  hours,  fell  from  the 
sky.  He  stood  and  watched  its  play, 
heard  its  sharp  singing,  before  he  went 
to   the   sitting-room.     Rose   Arden    was 


Which  Explains  a  Situation.  15 

there  at  needlework,  and  as  Robsart 
entered  she  smiled,  sighed,  and  chose  a 
brighter  thread.  The  room  was  meagrely 
furnished  ;  the  long,  low  window,  with  its 
dim  panes,  opened  out  on  a  sunburnt 
lawn,  hemmed  in  on  one  side  by  a  brick 
wall  and  at  the  end  by  a  hedge.  There 
was  a  star-shaped  flower-bed  in  the  cen- 
tre, where  a  rose-tree  and  some  scarlet 
geraniums  grew.  The  rest  was  mostly 
cut  into  strips  and  squares  for  goose- 
berry and  currant  bushes,  cabbages, 
beans,  and  potatoes.  When  days  were 
hot  and  insects  hummed  and  buzzed, 
birds  piped  and  the  breeze  blew  fresh, 
the  outlook  was,  though  narrow,  rather 
gay ;  but  now  the  flowers  were  not  yet 
in  bloom,  it  rained,  and  an  overpowering 
smell  of  humid  earth  made  the  air  op- 
pressive. Sometimes  a  raindrop,  heavier 
than  the  others,  fell  with  a  dull  splash  on 
the  window-sill,  sometimes  a  rook  flew 
over  the  distant  tree-tops,  but  there  was 


1 6  The  Herb-Moon. 

no  other  sound  to  be  heard — no  other 
living  thing  to  see.  Perhaps  Rose  was 
glad  to  have  no  distraction  from  her 
work :  the  wonderful  stitches  on  her  silk 
coverlet  multiplied,  and  the  summer  of 
life  she  had  never  known  seemed  to  grow 
from  under  her  fingers  on  to  the  blank 
material  beneath  them. 

Rose's  face  was  not  fair:  the  features, 
though  refined,  were  too  irregular  to  be 
gracious,  and  although  her  brow  and  soft 
brown  eyes  were  beautiful,  they  showed 
the  marks  of  over-long  fatigue.  An  ex- 
pression of  intense  sorrow  veiled  the 
pretty  liveliness  of  her  mien,  and  it  was 
only  when  she  laughed — which  was  sel- 
dom unless  Robsart  happened  to  be 
present — that  one  saw  how  well  merri- 
ment became  her.  She  seemed  about 
five-and-thirty,  although  she  was,  in  fact, 
fully  seven  years  younger.  Her  skin  had 
that  curious  waxen  pallor  often  found  in 
women  who,  while  they  live  in  the  coun- 


Which  Explains  a  Situation.  17 

try,  breathing  pure  air,  lose  their  color 
and  fade  from  lack  of  amusement.  Oh, 
those  long  days  in  the  country — days  of 
anxiety  without  distraction,  of  patient 
waiting  for  letters — no  matter  from  whom 
— which  never  come,  days  of  trivial  neces- 
sary tasks  impossible  to  shirk  yet  so 
wearisome  in  their  accomplishment,  days 
when  life  can  promise  neither  love,  nor 
youth,  nor  joy,  nor  even  death — when 
the  world  seems  but  a  mighty  grind-mill 
where  slaves  eternally  toil  without  rest 
and  without  hire.  The  merest  half-be- 
lief in  a  living  God  will  sustain  many 
souls  through  adversities  and  trials  of 
any  picturesque  or  stirring  order,  but 
only  the  most  exalted  faith  can  give  one 
the  strength  to  bear  in  patience  the 
misery  of  loneliness,  the  constant  fret  of 
uncongenial  surroundings,  the  heavy  bur- 
den of  little  common  woes,  which,  be- 
cause they  are  little  and  common,  are  so 
humiliating.     Rose  had  been   born  with 


1 8  The  Herb-Moon. 

a  spirit  of  adventure,  which  her  unevent- 
ful life  left  undeveloped,  and  her  frail 
body  utterly  belied.  The  story  of  her 
youth  caused  pity  even  in  Ottley,  where 
human  sympathies  ran  in  no  rapid  stream. 
Her  husband,  a  lieutenant  in  the  Navy, 
had  lost  his  reason  from  the  effects  of  a 
sunstroke,  and  was  now  in  a  private  asy- 
lum. Rose  was  nineteen  at  the  time  of 
her  marriage,  and  before  her  twentieth 
birthday  she  found  herself  in  the  terrible 
position  of  a  young  wife  with  no  one  to 
protect  her,  with  no  right  to  accept  af- 
fection, with  no  right  to  bestow  it,  and 
with  a  craving  for  companionship  so  com- 
pelling, that  in  stifling  it  she  broke  her 
heart.  When  her  only  brother  left  Ox- 
ford, she  went  with  him  to  the  little 
town  of  Ottley,  where  he  had  accepted 
the  post  of  parish  organist,  hoping,  in 
time,  to  become  choir-master  at  the  ca- 
thedral. He  was  known  to  the  Bishop 
as    a    young    man    of    good    character, 


Which  Explains  a  Situation*  19 

exceptional  talents  and  most  respectable 
family :  it  was  on  his  lordship's  recom- 
mendation that  he  was  offered  the  situa- 
tion he  now  occupied.  That  Rose  should 
live  with  her  brother  was  considered 
quite  the  best  thing,  and  that  Robsart 
should  form  a  third  in  the  household 
was  not,  on  the  whole,  to  be  wondered 
at.  He  was  a  steady,  high-minded  young 
man,  said  current  opinion,  and  had  but 
to  see  Mrs.  Arden  to  understand  the  re- 
lationship perfectly.  She  was  a  good 
creature  of  any  age,  with  no  sort  of  fas- 
cination. It  was  all  charming  and  pla- 
tonic  and  idyllic.  But  such  a  pity !  such 
a  pity !  For  Robsart  was  a  fine-looking 
fellow.  One  could  be  sure  that  he  had 
thrown  away  a  number  of  chances  solely 
on  account  of  his  friendship  for  Edward 
Banish  and  Mrs.  Arden. 

Rose,  that  day,  had  been  restless  in 
Robsart's  absence.  She  had  been  for  a 
little  walk  in  the  meadow,  and  changed 


20  The  Herb-Moon. 

her  dress  twice.  It  struck  her  that  she 
was  growing  old,  and  her  gray  alpaca 
gown  of  the  summer  before  seemed, 
when  she  looked  in  the  glass,  a  trying 
color.  And  she  wept.  It  was  not  her 
custom  to  brood  upon  the  past,  yet  this 
afternoon  many  things  which  she  had 
long  ceased  to  think  of  fell  upon  her 
mind.  Several  moments  in  her  history 
came  again  with  a  pathos  more  vivid  than 
her  actual  living  of  them.  One  had  been 
— ah,  many  years  back,  in  the  small 
Catholic  chapel  of  a  little  fishing-town  in 
the  south  of  England.  It  was  an  Easter 
Sunday,  and  she  had  wandered  in  to  hear 
the  Mass  sung.  Her  seat  faced  the  high 
altar,  and  when  she  gazed  upon  the  cross 
it  seemed,  not  an  emblem  of  sorrow,  but 
the  mysterious  key  to  the  city  of  eternal 
happiness.  There  were  lilies  below  and 
around  ;  flame-colored  azaleas  and  deep- 
purple  flowers  of  some  homelier  variety  ; 
the  gold  on  the  priest's  vestments  shone 


Which  Explains  a  Situation*  21 

in  the  candle-light,  and,  through  one 
stained-glass  window,  a  ray  of  the  sun  lit 
up  a  wooden  figure  of  the  Virgin,  curi- 
ously carved,  with  onyx  eyes  and  a  robe 
of  some  glittering  stuff  embroidered  by 
nuns.  Rose  observed  all  these  things 
just  as  one  scans  the  features  of  a  well- 
known  face  or  a  familiar  spot :  if  there 
had  been  no  visible  flowers,  no  sun,  no 
candles,  or  no  gold,  their  meaning,  never- 
theless, would  still  have  seemed  there — 
like  the  true  elements  in  a  fantastic 
dream.  The  Great  Sacrifice  was  made ; 
the  celebrant,  the  deacons  and  the  acolytes 
filed  out  to  joyous  music  and  in  solemn 
procession :  one  by  one  each  worshiper 
left  the  building  :  Rose  was  alone.  For 
that  celestial  minute,  she  felt  that  despair 
and  sin  and  grief  and  disappointment  had 
passed  away  for  ever,  that  the  peace  of 
God,  making  all  things  perfect,  was  come 
upon  the  land — never  to  depart  again 
therefrom.     She  prayed   without   words : 


22  The  Herb-Moon. 

her  spirit  sang  its  song  of  thanksgiving  in 
silence  ;  life  was  so  sweet ;  eternity,  so 
brief  ;  heaven,  so  like  a  fairer  earth.  She 
thought  of  the  saints  and  martyrs  till  her 
heart  thrilled  with  passionate  admiration 
and  a  fearful  longing  for  the  power  to 
suffer,  endure,  and  conquer  similarly. 
Ah,  if  one  could  but  be  sure  of  that  ulti- 
mate triumph !  There  was  the  doubt — 
the  burden.  What  of  the  souls  who 
fought,  yet  apparently  failed — dying,  un- 
known, unacknowledged,  all  their  labors 
unrewarded  ;  who  turned  aside  from  the 
broad  way,  yet,  for  some  reason,  were 
not  to  be  found  upon  the  narrow  one? 
The  saints  who  had  no  day !  Had  any 
one  sung  their  histories,  preached  their 
martyrdom  ?  Her  impetuous  spirit 
paused  at  a  plan  of  life  which,  in  her  judg- 
ment, made  the  pleasures  of  this  world 
insipid,  yet  left  the  recompense  of  the 
white  future  undefined.  She  was  young, 
ardent — full  of  hope  and  splendid  vigor  ; 


Which  Explains  a  Situation.  23 

she  longed  for  combats,  temptations, 
trials  of  faith,  hardship,  persecution — 
longed  for  them  because  she  felt  so  sure 
that  nothing  could  dismay  her ;  nothing 
overcome  her  pride  of  girlhood.  Most 
of  us  in  our  apprentice  days  feel  mighty 
enough  to  bear  the  burden  of  success, 
but  how  many  have  the  strength  to  fail  ? 
How  many  would  dare  to  choose  the  gift 
of  failure?  The  question  pursued  her; 
it  carried  the  accent  of  defiance.  Yet, 
she  thought,  why  not  forget  the  crown- 
ing victory  or  the  final  humiliation,  which- 
ever it  might  be :  the  task  was  the  thing 
— the  task — a  faithful  answer  to  one's 
calling.  And  her  calling  was  not  to  high 
places  or  through  dazzling  paths;  she 
was  going  to  be  married  and  live  very 
humbly.  .  .  .  Oh,  how  long  ago  it  was  ! 
She  was  a  girl  then,  and  she  used  to  laugh 
all  day.  How  long  ago  it  was !  Arden 
had  been  a  bad  husband  ;  he  was  often 
drunk  and  he  did  not  know'how  to  treat 


24  The  Herb-Moon. 

a  refined  woman.  Yet  she  had  cared  for 
him  because  he  loved  her  after  his  own 
brutal  fashion  :  in  the  intervals  of  churl- 
ishness and  ill-temper,  he  would  read 
poetry  aloud  and  kiss  her  pretty  hands, 
take  her  to  the  theatre,  or  buy  flowers. 
Then,  after  eight  strange  months,  came 
the  sunstroke  and  all  the  horror  of  insan- 
ity. She  had  tried  to  keep  him  at  home, 
but  he  killed  their  dog,  and  would  have 
killed  her  too  :  so  they  took  him  away. 
He  could  never  recover,  they  said.  She 
cried  for  two  years,  and  studied  art 
needlework.  She  could  now  earn  enough 
money  to  keep  herself  very  comfortably 
and  pay  for  her  brother's  annual  trip  to 
Switzerland.  He  was  delicate.  Robsart 
came  into  her  existence,  she  knew  not 
how.  He  was  her  brother's  friend,  and  he 
was  living  at  Ottley  when  they  first  came 
there :  they  had  agreed  to  settle  alto- 
gether at  the  farmhouse.  That  was  all. 
But  in  the  woman's  mind  the  story  turned 


Which  Explains  a  Situation*  25 

upon  one  scene  which  happened  when 
they  had  been  in  Ottley  just  three 
months.  Edward  had  gone  to  the  choir 
practice,  and  she  and  Robsart  were  to- 
gether, sitting  idly,  in  the  parlor.  They 
talked  about  spring,  and  ideals,  and  the 
nightingale. 

"You  know,"  said  Robsart,  quite  sud- 
denly, "  that  I  love  you." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered. 

They  looked  into  the  night  of  each 
other's  eyes  till  day  seemed  to  dawn  in 
them. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  fear,"  said  he, 
"  in  love — in  affection." 

She  glanced  past  him,  out  on  to  the 
world  she  had,  for  too  long  a  second,  for- 
gotten. The  curtains  had  not  been  drawn, 
and  she  could  see  the  barren  garden 
where  darkness  seemed  to  flow  like  a 
silent  tide — flooding  the  land  with  mys- 
tery. Alone  it  swept — the  greatest,  most 
solitary  of  all  lonelinesses.     Robsart  fol- 


26  The  Herb-Moon. 

lowed  the  direction  of  her  gaze,  and 
with  something  like  jealousy,  drew  down 
the  frayed,  green  blinds. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  see,"  he  said, 
"there  is  no  moon." 

She  leaned  her  head  against  the  shutter 
and  trembled  into  tears. 

"  Don't  cry,"  said  Robsart.  "  Oh, 
Rose,  do  not  cry  !  " 

"  I  am  not — I  am  not,"  she  whispered, 
and  sobbing,  stole  past  him  out  of  the 
room. 

For  weeks  she  had  been  happy  enough 
in  the  knowledge  that  he  was  near  her: 
she  had  been  a  listener  for  his  footsteps — 
for  the  sound  of  his  voice.  And  now  she 
knew  what  this  meant.  It  was  all  wrong. 
They  could  never  again  watch  the  sky 
together  or  listen  to  the  nightingale  or 
wander  through  the  fields  at  sunset ; 
they  could  never  again  smile  at  lovers 
when  they  met  them,  Sunday  evenings, 
on    the     road     from    church.       Robsart 


Which  Explains  a  Situation.  27 

seemed  to  understand  that  these  things 
were  at  an  end,  and  once,  when  he  sur- 
prised her  in  tears,  he  spoke  quite  roughly 
about  the  bad  starch  they  used  for  his 
collars. 

"  Perhaps  the  fault  is  in  the  ironing," 
she  suggested. 

"  I  shall  make  a  row  about  it,"  said  he, 
and,  as  he  dared  not  look  longer  at  her 
poor,  pale  face,  he  went  out,  walked  miles, 
and  came  home  too  tired  to  eat  his  sup- 
per. 

As  Rose  sat  at  her  eternal  needlework, 
her  throat  would  swell :  she  felt  the  ex- 
ceeding bitter  cry  but  could  not  utter  it, 
and  her  lips  grew  more  compressed,  and 
the  lines  round  her  mouth  more  deep,  and 
the  fire  in  her  temples  more  cruel.  At 
two-and-twenty  love  does  not  leave  us 
laughing. 

"  I  must  go  to  Lauderston,"  said 
Robsart,  one  day  ;  "  this  place  does  not 
agree  with  me." 


28  The  Herb-Moon. 

This  was  more  than  she  could  bear. 

"Wait  another  month,"  she  pleaded, 
"  till  the  pear-trees  are  in  bloom.  They 
look  so  pretty  !  " 

So  he  stayed,  and  every  week  he  found 
it  easier  to  remain.  Rose  became  so 
dull.  By  degrees  and  after  many  cruel 
shocks  to  his  sentiment,  he  began  to  own 
to  himself  her  poverty  of  personal  attrac- 
tions, and  he  thought  he  must  have  seen 
her  before  under  the  glamour  of  a  foolish, 
incomprehensible  passion.  She  watched 
his  love  die  out :  she  killed  the  lover  in 
him  just  as  she  had  slain  the  woman  in 
herself.  She  told  her  heart,  which  was 
too  numb  to  ache,  that  it  was  better  so. 
She  ceased  to  care  very  much  for  his 
company ;  but  then  she  no  longer  cared 
for  anything :  she  felt  chilled  by  her  own 
coldness.  She  still  said  her  prayers — the 
Our  Father  and  a  quaint  little  hymn  she 
had  been  taught  when  a  child,  but  she 
made   no    special    petitions — named    no 


Which  Explains  a  Situation.  29 

names.  It  may  be  that  she  dared  not. 
Yet  she  never  called  herself  unhappy,  for 
she  had  so  many  orders  for  her  needle- 
work. She  read  Thomas  a  Kempis  and 
tried  to  follow  the  "  Imitation  of  Christ." 
Of  course,  she  fell  behind  often,  and  often 
wondered  whether  a  rule  so  hard  could 
ever  be  entirely  obeyed.  Other  rules, 
however,  which  read  more  sweetly  seemed 
to  lead  to  mistakes  and  griefs  yet  darker ; 
so,  obedient  and  uncomplaining,  she 
struggled  on  in  the  old  groove.  Her 
time — that  second  unmarked  time  one 
has  apart  from  one's  daily  occupation — 
was  spent  in  waiting  on  the  two  men 
whose  sitting-room  she  shared.  She 
studied  their  tastes,  lived  in  their  work, 
bore  with  their  moods  and  humors. 
Edward  suffered  heroic  pains  from  some 
internal  malady.  Days  when  he  felt 
bright  he  would  be  wildly  boisterous  :  he 
would  shout,  sing,  play  the  fool,  and, 
after  an  hour  of   undisciplined    hilarity, 


3°  The  Herb-Moon* 

become  quarrelsome.  At  other  times  he 
had  only  dark  looks,  ominous  mutterings, 
and  no  appetite.  When  these  fits  were 
upon  him,  poor  Rose  used  to  shed  dry 
tears  in  her  lonely  corner — fearing  some 
calamity,  she  knew  not  what.  In  the 
evenings,  two  of  the  three  would  play 
chess,  or  one  would  read  aloud  while  the 
others  listened,  or  they  would  go  for  a 
walk,  or  they  would  each  take  a  book. 
On  rare  occasions  they  went  to  enter- 
tainments at  the  Town  Hall,  but  they 
had  always  to  leave  early  on  account  of 
Edward's  health,  or  because  the  music 
was  too  outrageous  for  his  scholarly  ear. 
Rose  rather  liked  songs  with  a  valse 
refrain,  and  once  she  greatly  enjoyed  a 
wretched  performance  of  My  Wife's 
Second  Floor.  Edward,  in  consequence, 
would  hardly  speak  to  her  for  a  week. 
He  was  a  man  of  violent  prejudices. 
Yet  when  Rose  tried  to  resent  his  tyran- 
nical conduct,  the   remembrance  of    his 


Which  Explains  a  Situation.  31 

many  acts  of  kindness,  his  noblesse,  his 
tenderness  caught  her  soul,  stealing  over 
her  desolation  like  the  morning  sunshine 
over  bleak  hills.  He  was  editing  an 
edition  of  Bach,  correcting,  suggesting, 
annotating,  but  all  that  was  as  nothing  : 
he  longed  to  give  voice  to  the  symphonies 
in  his  own  brain,  and  because  he  could 
not,  he  suffered,  like  some  wretch  in 
chains — tongue-tied,  yet  with  a  golden 
message  to  tell  could  he  but  utter  it. 
His  worse  moods  were  those  of  religious 
melancholy,  which  afflicted  him  to  mad- 
ness. He  had  composed  a  few  chorales 
under  this  influence,  but  Rose  shuddered 
when  she  heard  them,  and  found  no 
beauty  in  harmonies  born  of  such  dis- 
sonant emotions. 

Sometimes  Robsart  would  discover 
that  she  looked  ill,  and  they  would 
arrange  to  take  her  for  a  drive  in  the 
trap.  It  took  half  an  hour  to  harness  the 
pony ;    Susan   (who   managed   the  farm) 


3 2  The  Herb-Moon. 

held  the  cart,  and  Adam,  her  husband, 
fumbled  with  the  reins ;  Robsart  and 
Edward,  looking  on,  would  add  confusion 
to  the  scene  by  interference.  Then  a 
discussion  would  follow  :  who  should 
drive  ?  And  which  way  should  they  go  ? 
Rose's  suggestions  were  seldom  if  ever 
regarded,  and  the  weary  woman  would 
usually  find  herself  being  shaken  over  the 
bleakest  part  of  the  country  with  Edward, 
moaning  over  his  liver,  at  her  back,  and 
Robsart,  wondering  how  soon  they  could 
get  home,  by  her  side.  Both  men  were 
devoted  to  her  :  neither  of  them  had  ever 
seen  a  woman  whom  he  thought  her  equal, 
but  they  never  had  time  to  tell  her  so 
and  were,  in  any  case,  too  shy  to  even  let 
her  guess  it.  Love,  however,  is  a  state 
of  giving — and  unconscious  giving — and 
Rose  never  looked  for  praise  or  gratitude. 
When  they  carried  her  off  on  these  unprof- 
itable excursions,  she  saw  the  kindly 
motive  under  their  apparent  savagery  and 


Which  Explains  a  Situation.  33 

even  found  the  exquisite  pleasure  they 
sought  to  give  her,  in  suffering  so  much 
for  the  satisfaction  of  their  conscience. 
Once  on  returning  from  an  exceptionally 
painful  encounter  with  the  east  wind 
over  sharp  stones,  she  heard  Robsart 
encouraging  poor  Edward  by  a  reminder 
— "  that  after  all,  Rose  enjoyed  a  drive 
and  it  did  her  so  much  good  ! " 

She  learned  to  speak  not  of  herself.  In 
their  sitting-room  the  boards  groaned,  the 
wind  moaned,  the  flies  droned,  but  Rose 
was  nearly  always  silent.  She  talked 
when  her  advice  was  invited,  and  Edward 
had  often  been  pleased  to  call  her "  no 
fool  "  ;  she  considered  all  subjects  in  their 
relation  to  Robsart  and  her  brother:  in 
every  discussion  she  counted  herself — her 
own  desires,  her  own  heart,  her  own 
hopes — as  nothing  in  the  world.  She 
dreaded  giving  counsels  of  perfection  and 
was  often,  in  her  conversation,  so  liberal- 
minded  as  to  astonish  Robsart,  who  found 


34  The  Herb-Moon. 

such  worldly-wisdom — while  he  acted  on 
it — by  no  means  charming  in  a  woman. 
When  he  entered  the  room  after  his  drive 
with  Miss  Crecy,  some  of  the  old  amaze- 
ment— even  disbelief — fell  upon  him  that 
he  had  ever  been  desperately,  deeply,  sor- 
rowfully in  love  with  the  plain  and  aging 
woman  who  sat  there,  gray  in  the  face, 
embroidering  doves  and  butterflies  on  a 
pink  silk  quilt.  And  as  she  worked,  she 
sang — 

O  weep,  my  heart,  for  Summer  days  are  fled, 
The  earth  is  cold,  and  roses  that  were  red, 
Birds  that  once  sang,  and  little  things  that  flew 
Are  dead. 

The  pallid  day  is  moist  with  chilling  dew, 
There  is  no  noon,  because  the  wind  that  blew 
The  clouds  across  the  sun,  is  stern,  poor  heart, 
Like  you. 

"  Dear  God  !  "    he  said,  when  she  had 
finished.     "  Sing  something  cheerful." 
Rose  smiled,  and  he  noticed  the  grave 


Which  Explains  a  Situation.  35 

of  a  dimple  in  her  cheek.  Presently  he 
mentioned  that  Chloe  Crecy  had  met  him 
on  the  high-road  and  given  him  a  lift  in 
her  pony  carriage. 

"  She's  a  nice  girl,"  said  Rose  ;  "  good- 
natured  !  kind  !  " 

"  She  bores  me,"  he  answered. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Rose.  She  grew 
white  and  made  a  clumsy  stitch. 

"Do  you  ever  think  of  marrying?" 
said  she. 

"What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Do  you  ever  think  of  marrying?  "  she 
repeated. 

"I  believe,"  she  went  on,  "you  have 
been  with  us  so  long  that  you  think — it 
would  be  unkind  to  leave  us." 

"  Oh  no  !  "  said  Robsart,  "  men  are  not 
like  that." 

He  had  never  considered  the  question, 
but  instinct  gave  him  its  answer.  He 
stayed  with  Edward  and  Rose  because  he 
liked  their  society.     That  much,  at  least. 


36  The  Herb-Moon. 

was  clear  in  his  mind — marriage  or  no 
marriage. 

"  Men  are  not  like  that,"  he  said,  again. 

Then  he  went  out  into  the  garden  and 
sat  under  the  old  plum-tree  and  stared  at 
a  little  white  gate  which  led  to  the  pad- 
dock. He  forgot  the  rain,  although  it 
was  falling  fast. 


CHAPTER  IL 
Philosophy  and  Vegetables. 

It  was  Susan  who  called  him  in. 

"  La,  sir !  "  said  she,  "  what  are  you 
thinking  of?  Do  you  want  to  catch  your 
death?  Your  coat  is  sopping  wet?  If 
Mrs.  Arden  should  see  you  !  But  there  ! 
you  are  worse  than  a  child.  Really,  sir, 
you'd  worry  any  one's  life  out." 

He  went  into  the  bright  small  kitchen 
where  she  was  chopping  onions,  and  he 
warmed  himself  at  the  fire. 

"  Is  it  cold  to-day  ?"  he  asked. 

"Cold?"  said  Susan;  "it's  enough  to 
roast  you  !  You've  caught  a  chill  as  sure 
as  Fate." 

"  As  sure  as  Fate,"  said  Robsart.  "  I 
like  that ! " 


38  The  Herb-Moon. 

The  woman  looked  at  him  sharply  and 
nodded  her  head. 

"There's  nothing  like  dandelion  at  this 
time  of  the  year,"  said  she ;  "  it's  beautiful. 
I'd  give  something  if  the  black  sow  would 
take  it,  but  she's  too  crafty.  She  enjoys 
herself,  she  do,  when  she's  in  a  temper. 
And  there's  no  living  in  the  same  field 
with  her.  Adam  has  put  her  all  alone  in 
the  cuckoo-flower  meadow,  and  she  lords 
about  it  like  a  duchess  !  And  it's  all  be- 
cause she  got  a  prize  at  the  Fair.  A  nicer 
sow  I  never  had  till  she  got  that  prize. 
And  do  what  we  will,  we  can't  suit  her. 
She  won't  look  at  Speckly — who  pleased 
her  well  enough  last  year.  I  don't  hold 
with  giving  prizes.  But  I'm  waiting  till 
she  gets  lonely.  She  wants  to  be  ad- 
mired— that's  all.  When  she  looks  about 
the  meadow  and  finds  nothing  but  cuckoo- 
flowers, she'll  be  civil  enough  to  Speckly. 
Trust  her  !  And  if  I  could  afford  to  let 
him  have  his  self-respect,  he  shouldn't  go 


Philosophy  and  Vegetables,  39 

nigh  her.  A  proud  trollop  !  Oh  !  I  shall 
be  pleased  when  I  see  her  getting  lonely." 

"  I  observe,"  said  Robsart,  "  that  you 
believe  in  the  sobering  quality  of  afflic- 
tion." 

"Aye!  that  I  do.  Do  you  think  I 
should  have  married  if  I  hadn't  been 
lonely  ?  Not  I.  But  I  shouldn't  have 
married  so  soon  if  I  had  seen  London 
first.  I  do  like  it — but  it  is  unsettling. 
Last  May  I  went  up  for  three  days  and  I 
spent  eight  pound.  I  went  everywhere 
and  I  paid  for  everybody  !  And  why 
not  ?  we  have  no  children.  Adam  is 
nothing  for  life — what  I  call  life — know- 
ing what's  going  on  and  all  that.  He  says 
he  can't  see  anything  in  it.  He's  so  quiet 
and  he  wouldn't  dress  properly.  I  don't 
mind  how  he  goes  about  on  the  farm — ■ 
but  in  London  !  Do  you  think  he  would 
put  on  a  white  shirt  and  look  gentleman- 
like? Not  he.  He  doesn't  so  much 
mind  a  blue  and  white  shirt,  but  an  all 


4°  The  Herb-Moon. 

white — never.  He  says  he's  only  a  labor- 
ing man  and  doesn't  want  to  be  taken  for 
his  betters.  He's  an  excellent  husband 
is  Adam,  but  he's  dull.  I  like  life,"  she 
repeated.  "  I  sha'n't  stop  here  for  ever. 
When  I  make  up  my  mind  to  go,  I  shall 
go.  If  I  waited  for  Adam  to  give  the 
word,  I  should  never  get  anywhere.  But 
wherever  I  go,  he'll  follow  me  fast  enough. 
That's  one  comfort." 

"  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  like  it,  if  he 
did  not  follow  you  ?  "  said  Robsart. 

Susan  tossed  her  head. 

"  Lor' !  "  she  answered,  "  he  knows 
when  he's  well  off.  He's  wiser  than  many 
that  can  talk  the  hind-legs  off  a  donkey 
and  look  a  lot.  There's  that  girl  Ethel  as 
thinks  of  marrying  young  Bates.  '  Shall 
I  marry  him  ?  '  says  she  to  me.  '  I  can 
tell  you  nothing,'  says  I,  'but  marry  a 
man  with  ahead  on  his  shoulders  !  Marry 
a  man  with  a  head  on  his  shoulders,  that's 
what  I  say.'     And  that's  all  she  got  out 


Philosophy  and  Vegetables*  41 

of  me.  I  was  scrooping  up  onions  just 
as  I  am  scrooping  'em  now.  Mrs.  Arden 
was  sitting  where  you  are  sitting.  She 
often  comes  in  to  get  cheered  up." 

"  And  what  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  because  I  gave  Ethel  a  look. 
It  isn't  kind  to  talk  about  sweethearts  be- 
fore Mrs.  Arden — when  she  can't  have 
one.  It's  really  enough  to  make  any- 
body un-Christian  to  see  a  nice  lady  like 
that  sewing  all  day  long  with  no  one  to 
think  of  and  nothing  to  look  forward  to. 
Is  it  natural  ?  And  I  don't  call  her  so 
plain,  myself.  Her  eyes  are  almost  as 
big  as  the  Queen  of  Beauty's  in  that  al- 
manac over  your  head,  and  her  figure  is 
as  nice  a  figure  as  I  ever  saw.  Doctor 
Somers  was  here  the  other  afternoon  about 
Adam's  chest,  and  Mrs.  Arden  happened 
to  pass  the  window.  '  She  must  have 
been  a  very  pretty  girl,'  said  he,  '  and  it's 
my  belief  that  she  makes  herself  look  old 
on    purpose.'     And    if   he  ever   spoke  a 


42  The  Herb-Moon. 

true  word  it  was  that,  for  I  have  been  in 
her  room  of  a  morning  and  caught  her 
with  her  hair  down  her  back  and  her  neck 
and  arms  bare,  and  I  hardly  knew  her. 
I  would  have  said  that  she  wasn't  a  day 
more  than  six-and-twenty — and  we  all 
know  that  if  a  woman  is  old,  she  shows  it 
plain  enough  if  you  see  her  before  she's 
up  and  had  her  breakfast.  I  could  shed 
every  tear  in  my  body  when  I  think  of 
Mrs.  Arden,  and  I  wish  that  old  husband 
of  hers  would  break  his  neck.  The  Lord 
forgive  me  for  saying  so !  As  I  have 
never  seen  her  husband— and  don't  want 
— there  is  no  harm  done  in  wishing  he 
was  dead  !  And  there's  your  coat  steam- 
ing like  a  wet  blanket,  and  you  pay  no 
more  heed  to  it  than  if  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  rheumatics.  Here !  give  it  to 
me." 

He  took  off  his  coat  and  handed  it  to 
Susan  without  a  word. 

"  Lor  ' !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  giggle. 


Philosophy  and  Vegetables.  43 

"  the  onions  have  got  into  your  eyes. 
They  do  look  bad." 

She  watched  him  go  up  the  creaking 
staircase  to  his  bedroom. 

"  He's  upset,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  Those  was  the  gentlest  onions  I  ever 
chopped.     It  wasn't  them." 


CHAPTER  m. 
"What  the  Herb-Moon  Means. 

The  good  creature  went  out  to  milk 
the  cows,  but  all  the  time  she  grieved 
about  Robsart  and  wondered  why  he 
looked  so  sad.  At  last  she  found  a  rea- 
son for  his  melancholy,  and  she  longed 
so  much  to  tell  some  one  of  her  belief,  that, 
as  Adam  had  gone  to  the  brewery  to  com- 
plain of  the  last  cask  of  ale,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  remain  silent  till  his  return, 
she  sought  Mrs.  Arden.  Rose  was  still 
sitting  at  the  window  with  her  needle- 
work. She  had  made  three  butterflies 
with  golden  and  amethyst  wings  while 
Robsart  had  been  thinking  under  the 
plum-tree  and  talking  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Is  that  you,  Susan?"  said  she. 


What  the  Herb-Moon  Means.  45 

"Yes,"  said  Susan,  who  had  now  a 
pain  in  her  throat  from  running  or  some 
other  cause.  "  I  have  got  one  of  my 
worrying  fits,  I  have.  I've  heard  some- 
thing and  I  don't  know  whether  I  ought 
to  tell  it.  It's  no  affair  of  mine  and  yet 
it  is.  I  can't  bear  injustice,  and  if  any 
one  expects  me  to  look  on  and  see  injus- 
tice, they  don't  know  Susan  !  They  are 
not  doing  the  right  thing  by  Mr.  Robsart 
at  the  factory.  And  he's  too  proud  to 
complain.  It's  just  like  him  to  let  him- 
self be  put  upon." 

Rose  stuck  her  needle  into  her  needle- 
book  and  sat  back  a  little  further  in  the 
shade. 

"  It  was  Doctor  Somers  who  told  me," 
continued  Susan.  "  There's  changes  to  be 
made  at  the  factory,  and  Mr.  Robsart 
should  now,  by  rights,  be  manager.  And 
they  say  that  long-nosed  Grayson  will 
get  the  situation  because  he's  a  married 
man  with  twins.     Of  course,  it  stands  to 


46  The  Herb-Moon. 

reason  that  a  married  man  is  more  of  a 
man  than  an  unmarried :  married  men, 
too,  are  supposed  to  be  steadier,  they 
have  more  mouths  to  feed  and  more  to 
put  up  with — in  one  way  or  another. 
And  it's  a  woman's  place  to  take  the  part 
of  husbands  and  show  a  feeling  heart  for 
them — it's  foolhardiness  and  nothing  else 
to  trapse  about  from  house  to  house  go- 
ing on  against  marriage.  But  fair's  fair, 
and  Grayson  has  only  been  in  the  fac- 
tory a  twelvemonth  :  while  Mr.  Robsart 
knows  the  business  through  and  through. 
I  say  myself  he  ought  to  think  of  settling 
— for  what  sort  of  life  is  it  with  no  wife 
and  no  proper  home?  I  should  be  the 
loser  if  he  left  me  and  set  up  for  himself, 
but  I  can't  help  seeing  that  it  would  be 
all  for  his  own  good." 

Poor  Rose  could  not  speak,  but,  pre- 
tending to  search  for  a  pin,  she  held  her 
hand  to  her  heart. 

"  Tommy  was  in  here  just  now,"  added 


What  the  Herb-Moon  Means.  47 

Susan,  "  and  his  eyes  are  all  over  the 
place.  He  saw  Miss  Crecy  get  as  red  as 
a  beet  when  she  met  Mr.  Robsart  on  the 
road  this  afternoon.  She  gave  him  a  lift 
in  her  new  pony-shay  as  far  as  Ottley 
Dene,  and  her  groom  gave*  Tommy  a 
wink  a  yard  long  when  he  saw  the  per- 
formance. Miss  Crecy  will  have  a  nice 
bit  of  money  one  of  these  days,  and 
'  Randalls  '  is  a  pleasant-standing  house." 

"Yes,"  said  Rose,  "a  very  pleasant- 
standing  house.  I  remember  the  or- 
chard." 

"  And  Mr.  Robsart  is  so  fond  of 
apples  !  "  said  Susan.  "  When  he  mar- 
ries, I  hope  it  will  be  straight  off  without 
shilly-shally.  For  there's  nothing  so 
wearing  as  the  herb-moon." 

"The  herb-moon?"  repeated  Rose, 
stupefied. 

"  Aye !  That's  my  name  for  one  of 
these  long  courtships.  Adam  and  I  did 
all  our  courting  in  a  fortnight :  that's  why 


48  The  Herb-Moon. 

we  are  happy.  This  walking  out  with 
each  other  year  in  and  year  out,  till  all 
your  nerve  is  gone  and  you  are  sick  with 
talking,  was  never  to  my  taste  nor  to  my 
mother's  before  me.  'Tisn't  natural,  and 
I'm  all  for  nature,  I  am." 

At  that  moment,  Edward,  with  a  roll 
of  music  under  his  arm,  came  into  the 
room ;  and  Susan,  who  was  always  afraid 
of  the  organist  because  he  liked  to  walk 
alone  in  the  moonlight,  hurried  away. 

Rose  took  up  her  coverlet,  and  told 
her  brother,  while  she  stitched,  Susan's 
news  about  the  changes  at  the  factory. 

"  I  hate  gossip,"  said  Edward,  who  had 
a  shaggy  beard  and  big  eyebrows. 

"  But  this  affects  Robsart,"  answered 
Rose.  "  I  think  you  ought  to  tell  him 
that  the  factory  people  are  right.  He 
should  get  married." 

"  He  can't  get  married  to  order,"  said 
Edward.  "  Marriage  is  a  thing  which 
has  to  come  into  your  mind.     Women,  I 


"What  the  Herb-Moon  Means.  49 

know,  think  of  nothing  else.  But  men 
are  different.  I  wish  you  wouldn't  dis- 
tract me  with  all  this  petty  tittle-tattle 
when  I  want  to  work.  I  had  an  idea  for 
my  opera,  and  now  it  has  gone." 

As  Edward's  ideas  for  his  masterpiece 
were  always  of  so  frail  a  nature  that  even 
a  coal  dropping  into  the  grate  could 
make  him  forget  them,  Rose  did  not 
reproach  herself  bitterly  for  venturing  to 
address  him  yet  further. 

"  You  don't  understand  me,"  she  said. 
"  I  think  it  is  your  duty  to  have  a  seri- 
ous talk  with  Louis.  He  has  lived  with 
us  now  for  three  years,  and  as  he  knows 
you  dislike  any  change  in  your  life,  it  is 
clearly  right  that  you  should  make  it 
easy  for  him  to  leave  us.  He  is  so  kind 
that  he  would  suffer  many  disadvantages 
rather  than  give  any  one  the  least  pain. 
I  am  sure  I  value  his  company  quite  as 
much  as  you  do,  but  we  must  not  be  sel- 
fish." 


50  The  Herb-Moon. 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Edward,  "  you  find 
it  quite  a  light  matter  to  renounce  my 
friends  and  my  pleasures !  To  say  that 
you  value  Robsart's  company  is  a  mere 
phrase,  since  you  are  never,  by  any 
chance,  with  him  for  any  longer  time 
than  you  can  help — that  is,  at  meals  and 
at  church.  So  far  as  I  can  gather  you 
have  not  one  taste  in  common,  and,  if  he 
had  not  a  singularly  good  disposition,  he 
would  never  stand  your  indifference.  But 
I  should  find  my  life  insupportable  with- 
out him :  he  is  the  only  man  with  the 
least  intelligence  in  the  parish,  and,  as  he 
has  a  very  fair  knowledge  of  music,  he  is 
the  one  person  who  can  drill  the  choir  or 
take  my  place  when  I  am  ill.  I  could  get 
an  assistant,  no  doubt ;  but  a  professional 
would  be  longing  for  my  death  in  order 
that  he  might  step  into  my  shoes,  or  else 
he  would  try  to  show  at  every  oppor- 
tunity how  much  better  he  played  than  I. 
Robsart  is  always  modest,  and  never  once 


What  the  Herb-Moon  Means.  51 

thinks  that  because  he  is  an  excellent 
amateur  who  has  learned  a  great  deal  in 
spare  moments,  he  can  instruct  those  who 
have  given  up  their  whole  life  and  youth 
to  the  study  of  one  art.  Yet  you  tell  me 
I  ought  to  urge  him  to  go  away  from  us 
and  marry!  All  women  are  full  of  ca- 
prices, and  I  never  pretended  to  under- 
stand them.  I  used  to  think  that  you 
had  more  good  sense  than  the  rest — partly 
because  of  your  troubles,  and  partly 
because  you  are  generally  too  hard  at 
work  to  waste  time  running  to  and 
fro  tale-bearing,  scandal-mongering,  and 
match-making  like  the  others.  But  in 
this  instance  you  have  shown  yourself 
extremely  weak  and  a  person  of  no  judg- 
ment. I  hope  you  will  never  again  en- 
courage Susan  to  give  you  her  vulgar — 
though  possibly  well-meant — advice  :  you 
are  not  strong  enough  to  resist  the  com- 
monplace! I  can  see  now  that  nothing 
would  give  you  greater  happiness  than  to 


52  The  Herb-Moon. 

ruin  poor  Robsart's  individuality  by  plant- 
ing liim  in  an  Ivy  Lodge  with  a  wife  and 
six  children ! " 

Rose  smiled  very  sadly,  and  replied 
with  much  sweetness : 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  appear  to  you  so 
foolish.  The  prospect  of  seeing  Louis  in 
an  Ivy  Lodge  does  not,  however,  delight 
me  so  much  as  you  suppose !  But  I  have 
too  much  faith  in  his  heart  and  his  char- 
acter to  fear  that  the  responsibility  of 
either  a  wife  or  even  six  children  would 
destroy  his  courage  for  ever  and  spoil  his 
career  !  In  any  case,  his  actual  marriage 
is  not  our  business.  Indeed,  I  am  so 
fond  of  him — although  you  may  not  be- 
lieve it — that  while  I  could  trust  my 
reasons  for  urging  him  to  marry,  I  could 
not  trust  those  I  might  see  against  such 
a  step.  I  should  suspect  them  of  selfish- 
ness. Our  duty  is  to  leave  him  free  to 
take  a  wife  if  he  felt  so  minded.  It  is 
always  said  that  while  a  man  has  a  fairly 


What  the  Herb-Moon  Means,  53 

comfortable  home  he  will  not  trouble  him- 
self to  look  out  for  another.  Of  course, 
our  rooms  are  not  at  all  luxurious,  but 
they  are  tidy ;  and  Susan  can  cook  as 
well  as  any  servant  in  the  district.  I 
know  that  I  myself  would  not  be  missed 
very  much  from  the  household,  yet  every 
woman  counts  where  a  man's  home-life  is 
concerned.  I  mend  Louis's  things,  and 
dust  his  books,  and  keep  order." 

"  Men  are  not  so  weak  as  you  think," 
said  Edward.  "  They  can  always  leave 
anybody  or  any  place  without  a  pang — if 
they  find  another  person  or  another  place 
they  like  better.  If  they  feel  pricks  and 
scruples  it  is  merely  because  they  cannot 
make  up  their  mind  that  the  change  will 
be  absolutely  to  their  advantage.  I  am 
your  brother  and  I  do  not  lie  to  you. 
Other  men  would  perhaps  encourage  your 
delusions.  The  moment  Robsart  is  not 
happy  with  us,  he  will  pack  up  his  box 
and  go.     He  will  find  it  quite  easy." 


54  The  Herb-Moon. 

"  But,"  said  Rose,  in  a  low  voice,  "per- 
haps he  ought  not  to  be  happy  with  us. 
We  are  bad  friends,  thinking  only  of  our- 
selves, if  we  encourage  him  to  remain 
here  against  his  own  interests." 

She  believed  that  she  understood  Rob- 
sart  far  better  than  her  brother,  who 
judged  every  one  by  his  own  measure. 
But  Rose  also  judged  every  one  by  her 
own  measure.  She  would  have  thought 
it  extremely  difficult  to  leave  any  friends 
who  seemed  to  depend  on  her  society  for 
their  peace  of  mind  and  with  whom  she 
had  been  living  for  three  years.  And  of 
course  there  was  another  consideration 
too,  which  Edward  could  not  take  into 
the  reckoning  because  he  knew  nothing 
about  it.  That  was  Robsart's  former 
love  for  herself.  He  still  liked  her  a 
little,  though  not  so  much,  perhaps,  but 
he  could  forget  her  if  she  went  away. 
Yet  how  could  she  explain  this? 

"  Has   it   ever   occurred   to   you,"  she 


What  the  Herb-Moon  Means.  55 

said  at  last,  "  that  Louis  felt  a  certain — 
pity — for  me  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  want  with  his  pity 
when  I  am  alive  to  look  after  you  ? " 
growled  Edward. 

Rose  forced  back  her  tears  and  spoke 
no  more,  till,  several  minutes  later,  she 
heard  Robsart's  voice  in  the  passage. 

"  Here  he  is,"  she  said,  and,  picking  up 
her  work-basket,  left  the  room  just  as  he 
entered  it. 

When  she  had  gone,  Edward  gave  a 
great  sigh,  and  struck  his  head  with  his 
palms. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  Rose?"  he 
asked.  "  She  has  never  been  so  tire- 
some." 

"  It  must  be  the  thunder  in  the  air," 
said  Robsart.  "  I  feel  rather  cross  my- 
self." 

"  But  she  isn't  cross,"  said  Edward ; 
"she  is  only  worrying  about  things  which 
don't  concern  her." 


5 6  The  Herb-Moon. 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other,  and 
heard  her  light  footsteps  in  the  room 
overheard. 

"  Young  Hartopp  told  me  that  you 
were  driving  with  Chloe  Crecy,"  said  the 
organist,  who,  perhaps  because  he  was 
rather  weakly  and  ill  and  therefore  de- 
pendent on  his  friends,  was  always  unrea- 
sonably jealous  of  them.  "  I  observe," 
he  went  on,  "  that  the  love-making  we 
find  in  the  world  is  mostly  mere  vanity. 
A  woman  is  not  so  grateful  for  affection 
as  she  is  anxious  to  show  others  how 
much  some  one  is  devoted  to  her,  and  a 
great  many  men  are  equally  self-seeking. 
It  is  all  show  and  parade  and  pirouetting. 
It  never  took  me  in.  I  have  not  spoken 
two  words  to  Chloe  Crecy  in  my  life,  but 
I'm  sure  she's  a  minx." 

"Oh,  she's  a  nice  creature — good- 
natured  !  kind  !  "  said  Robsart,  who,  hav- 
ing no  decided  opinion  of  his  own  with 
regard  to  Miss  Crecy,  thought  he  could 
not  do  better  than  quote  Rose. 


What  the  Herb-Moon  Means.  57 

"Ah!"  said  Edward,  "you  will  be 
marrying  one  of  these  days.     I  see  it  all." 

But  Robsart  was  wondering  why  Rose 
had  started  from  the  room  the  very  mo- 
ment that  he  appeared  on  the  threshold. 

"  And  what  is  all  this  about  Grayson 
being  made  manager?"  continued  Edward. 

Robsart  lit  his  pipe  and  reflected  for  a 
few  seconds. 

"  Grayson  is  manager  at  this  moment," 
he  answered,  at  last ;  "  the  place  was 
filled  up  yesterday." 

"  Well,"  said  Edward,  indignantly,  "  you 
might  have  told  us.  It  isn't  pleasant  to 
learn  that  every  passer-by  knows  more 
about  your  friends  than  you  do  yourself." 

"There  was  nothing  to  tell,"  said 
Robsart ;  "  how  could  I  suppose  that 
you  took  any  interest  in  Grayson  ?  " 

"  I  take  a  considerable  interest  in  him 
when  I  see  him  placed  over  your  head  ! 
If  you  are  going  to  endure  treatment  of 
that  sort  you  are  a  coward  and  I  quite 
agree  with  Rose." 


5 8  The  Herb-Moon, 

"  I  am  sorry  Rose  thinks  me  a  coward." 

"Any  sensible  woman  would  say  the 
same.  Why  have  they  given  Grayson 
the  preference  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  married  man.  He  has  far 
more  need  of  the  extra  salary  than  I  have. 
You  must  admit  that  a  sane  reason." 

"  You  can't  be  serious,"  said  Edward, 
growing  more  angry.  "  Just  as  if  you 
couldn't  let  yourself  go  in  my  presence, 
at  any  rate,  and  call  it — what  you  must 
think  it — a  parcel  of  cant  and  twaddle. 
Here's  a  young  ass,  who,  because  he  has 
married  an  old  harridan  for  her  money,  is 
thought  more  trustworthy  than  you  are ! 
I  will  never  believe  it:  there  must  be 
something  else  behind  it  all.  The  British 
nation  has  not  won  its  flag  by  teaching 
doctrines  of  rancidity  !  We  are  a  mer- 
cenary lot  and  a  snobbish  lot,  but  I  swear 
that  we  are  not  fools." 

Robsart  smiled. 

"  To  be  quite  candid,  then,"  said  he,  "  I 


What  the  Herb-Moon  Means*  59 

haven't  told  you  all.  They  are  going  to 
move  the  manager's  office  to  Lauderston 
— they  are  starting  new  works  there. 
And  I — I  didn't  care  to  go  away  from 
Ottley.  Lauderston  is  too  dirty  and  too 
crowded  and  too  noisy :  I  prefer  the 
country." 

"  Then  they  offered  you  the  manager- 
ship?" 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  wish  it  known." 
"  Every  one  will  think  that  you  have 
been  passed  over." 

"  That  doesn't  matter  in  the  least." 
Edward  was  too  bewildered — too  agi- 
tated to  speak.  Lauderston  was  thirty 
miles  away.  How  could  he  urge  his  friend 
to  go  to  Lauderston?  Yet  how  could  he 
wish  him  to  remain  when  remaining  meant 
the  forfeiture  of  four  hundred  a  year,  a 
house,  and  even  better  prospects?  The 
poor  invalid  suffered  agonies  between  the 
selfishness  he  had  acquired  through  many 
wants   and   the    generosity  he  had  been 


60  The  Herb-Moon. 

born  with.  Then  he  remembered,  that, 
fortunately,  the  decision  had  been  already 
made.  Had  not  Robsart  taken  the  whole 
burden  of  the  refusal  on  his  own  shoul- 
ders ?  Edward  never  suspected  that  the 
younger  man  had  foreseen  this  struggle 
and  mercifully  spared  him  its  bitterness 
as  well  as  its  responsibility. 

"  But  I  should  like  them  all  to  know," 
said  he,  "  that  you  declined  the  place. 
You  are  in  a  false  position  otherwise." 

"  It  must  never  be  mentioned,"  replied 
Robsart,  rather  sternly.  "  I  ask  you  to 
respect  my  wish.  I  shall  tell  Rose  be- 
cause— as  you  say  she  is  annoyed  about 
the  gossip — it  would  be  unfair  to  let  her 
misunderstand  the  true  facts.  What 
other  people  think  or  hint  or  imagine  is 
of  no  consequence." 

Then  Susan  came  in  bearing  the  supper- 
tray  and  made  Edward's  head  ache  by 
letting  the  bread-platter  fall,  loaf  and  all, 
on  the  floor,  with  a  crash. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Which  Shows  that   Lovers  can  at  Times 
Talk  Reason. 

AFTER  supper,  the  organist  went,  for  it 
was  Tuesday,  to  the  choir-practice.  To 
his  great  surprise  and  disappointment, 
Robsart  did  not,  as  usual,  offer  to  accom- 
pany him.  Rose  began  to  tremble  just  as 
she  had  trembled  on  just  such  an  evening 
three  years  before.  She  looked  very  pale 
and  very  tired  :  there  were  heavy  lines 
under  her  eyes  and  she  could  scarcely 
hold  up  her  head. 

"  It  is  a  long  while,"  began  Robsart, 
"  since  we  have  had  a  talk.  I  don't  know 
that  I  have  very  much  to  say  now.  But 
first  I  must  tell  you  about  Grayson." 

He  explained  the   matter  as  briefly  as 


62  The  Herb-Moon. 

possible  and  watched  her  face  as  he  had 
not  watched  it  for  many  months.  "  Why 
isn't  she  pretty,"  he  wondered,  "  when 
everything  about  her  is  pretty?  If  she 
had  more  color,  and  unbraided  her  hair 
and  rested  her  eyes  and  wore  brighter 
gowns,  she  would  be  charming.  Yet  I 
hate  red  cheeks,  and  as  for  her  hair — 
what  can  be  neater  than  braids?  No 
amount  of  fatigue  can  alter  the  shape  of 
her  eyes,  and  when  she  is  so  tidy  and  has 
such  a  graceful  figure — why  should  she 
deck  herself  in  finery?  I  see  nothing 
wrong  in  her,  for,  on  the  contrary,  if  she 
were  in  any  respect  different,  she  would 
not  be  half  so  sweet."  He  was,  however, 
unable  to  study  her  so  carefully  as  he 
could  have  wished  because  she  was  not 
sewing,  and  it  is  difficult  to  treat  a  woman 
like  a  picture  when  she  sits  opposite  you 
and  smiles  from  time  to  time. 

"  I  think  you  were  wrong,"  said  Rose, 
"  not    to    go    to    Lauderston      A    man 


Lovers  Can  Talk  Reason*  63 

should  be  ambitious,  and  if  God  sends 
you  an  opportunity  to  advance  in  the 
world,  you  are  not  merely  ungrateful  but 
cowardly  if  you  do  not  take  it.  You  say 
that  you  prefer  to  live  in  the  country : 
that  is  a  poor  excuse  for  being  indolent." 

At  this  he  was  deeply  hurt,  and  was 
far  too  proud  to  make  any  reply.  As 
for  Rose,  she  had  such  a  pain  in  her  heart 
and  such  wild  thoughts  in  her  head  that 
she  feared  she  would  surely  lose  her  wits. 

"  I  hope  it  is  not  too  late,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  to  tell  them  that  you  spoke  too 
hastily  and  have  changed  your  mind." 

"  If  it  were  not  too  late,  I  should  never 
see  the  matter  in  any  other  light.  I  do 
nothing  hastily,  and  I  am  a  man  of  my 
word.  I  know  what  I  want  and  what  I 
do  not  want.  I  know  what  I  can  do  and 
what  I  cannot  do.  I  could  not  go  to 
Lauderston." 

Rose,  for  some  reason,  dared  not  ask 
him   why   he    felt   such   a   dislike   for  a 


64  The  Herb-Moon. 

town  he  had  visited  once  or  twice  and 
had  always,  until  this  day,  spoken  well  of. 

"I  knew  I  could  not  go  there,"  he 
went  on,  "  but  I  did  not  know  why  I 
could  not  till  I  thought  it  all  out  under 
the  plum-tree.  I  want  to  stay  with  you. 
Although  I  may  be  nothing  in  your  life, 
you  are  everything  in  mine,  and  so  long 
as  I  do  not  offend  you,  or  tire  you,  or 
hinder  you,  you  have  no  right  to  send 
me  away.  I  will  not  tell  you  that  I 
love  you,  because  such  things  cannot  be 
said  between  us,  and  if  they  were  said 
they  would  mean  little.  I  am  in  no 
mood  to  make  protestations,  and  you  are 
not  free  to  hear  them.  I  don't  ask  for 
much  of  your  company — it  does  not  give 
me  any  special  happiness  to  be  with  you. 
But  I  like  to  know  that  you  are  here — 
that  if  you  were  ill  or  in  trouble,  I  could 
take  care  of  you  and  protect  you." 

"  I  will  not  be  your  stumbling-block," 
said    Rose,  trying  to   speak  like   an  old 


Lovers  Can  Talk  Reason*  65 

woman,  and  looking,  Robsart  thought, 
like  an  angel ;  "  I  am  very  fond  of  you, 
too,  dear,  and  I  am  more  grateful  than  I 
can  ever  explain  for  your  friendship  and 
your  sympathy.  Yet,  while  I  value  both, 
I  do  not  need  either  so  much  as  you 
think,  for  I  have  forgotten  all  my  sorrow 
and  I  am  quite  happy.  Youth  is  the 
time  for  love  and  grief,  and  I  am  no 
longer  young.  I  forget  my  age,  but  as  I 
am  so  contented  and  I  find  work  so  pleas- 
ant, I  know  I  must  be  much  older  than 
most  people  !  You  are  far  too  manly  to 
spend  your  time  protecting  some  one 
who  stands  in  no  need  of  protection  and 
taking  care  of  some  one  who  is  already 
provided  for." 

Robsart  understood  her  nature  too 
well  to  think  her  either  cold  or  heartless 
for  saying  such  things  to  him,  so  although 
he  was  perplexed,  he  loved  her  all  the 
better  and  was  more  than  ever  persuaded 
that  braids  were  the  most  admirable  way 


66  The  Herb-Moon. 

of  dressing  the  hair — particularly  when 
the  hair  was  auburn  and  looked  as  though 
it  were  meant  to  dance  and  glisten. 

"  You  are  not  my  stumbling-block," 
said  he  ;  "  and  if  there  is  any  good  in 
me,  I  owe  it  all  to  you.  I  could  not 
have  worked — if  you  had  not  encouraged 
me  by  your  patience :  I  should  have 
done  all  manner  of  foolish  things — if  I 
had  not  always  remembered  that  I  would 
have  to  see  you  the  next  day:  I  would 
have  been  a  false  friend  to  Edward  if 
you  had  not  kept  me  true.  Do  you 
think  I  have  forgotten  that  evening  when 
we  stood  over  there  by  the  window — and 
I  kissed  you  and  you  left  me  ?  Do  you 
think  that  made  me  love  you  less?" 

His  voice  failed,  and  he  bit  his  lip. 
Rose  longed  to  touch  him,  but  she  sat 
quite  still. 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  is,""he  said,  at 
last,  "to  feel' divided  against  yourself-^ 
-eparafe   fforn  ydUrself?"  Did  .'yon  ever 


Lovers  Can  Talk  Reason.  67 

feel  sick,  starved,  bruised  ?  That  is  the 
way  I  nearly  always  feel,  and  if  I  worked 
twelve  hours  a  day  and  if  I  went  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth,  I  should  be  just  the 
same.  But  while  you  are  with  me,  I  am 
not  quite  so  wretched." 

Rose  stood  up  and  placed  her  chair 
back  in  its  place  against  the  wall. 

"  I  want  you  to  promise  me,"  she  said, 
"  that  you  will  go  to  Lauderston.  It 
would  not  be  fair  to  Grayson  to  take  the 
managership  now,  but  you  can  tell  them 
that  you  will  go  in  some  other  capacity. 
I  ask  this  not  for  your  sake,  but  for 
mine." 

"  For  your  sake  ?  "  he  said  ;  "  for  your 
sake  ?     Do  you  want  me  to  go  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  I  think  we 
must  not  meet  again  for  a  long,  long 
time.  This  is  all  wrong  and  madness. 
We  must  not  deceive  each  other  or  our- 
selves. I  have  been  living  a  lie  for 
three  years  and  I  am  being-  punished  for 


68  The  Herb-Moon. 

it.  I  meant  to  be  a  good  influence  in 
your  life,  and  I  find  I  have  been  an  evil 
one.  I  prided  myself  on  being  unselfish, 
when  I  must  have  known  that  I  was 
thinking  solely  of  my  own  happiness.  I 
could  avoid  you  ;  I  could  pretend  not  to 
think  of  you  ;  I  could  flatter  myself  all 
day  that  you  were  a  friend  and  no  more ; 
I  could  do  everything — anything,  all 
things  except  leave  you.  I  had  the  cour- 
age to  see  you  like  me  less  and  less  ;  I  had 
the  courage  to  weary  you  by  my  silence 
and  my  plainness  ;  I  had  the  courage  to 
bury  myself  alive,  to  fade,  to  wither,  to 
work,  work — work — against  time,  against 
my  own  despair,  my  own  madness,  but  I 
had  not  the  courage  to  go  away  or  to 
ask  you  to  go.  And  was  it  love  which 
made  me  so  contemptible  ?  I  think  not. 
If  you  care  for  me,  help  me  to  be  strong 
— help  me  to  be  honest." 

He  hesitated. 

"  Why,"  she    asked,  "  don't   you    wish 


Lovers  Can  Talk  Reason.  69 

people  to  hear  that  you  refused  to  go  to 
Lauderston?  Because  you  know  they 
would  say  it  was  on  my  account.  And 
they  would  be  right,  Louis !  They 
would  be  right !  Why  are  you  ashamed 
to  have  them  guess  the  reason?  Be- 
cause your  conscience  tells  you  that  you 
are  wrong." 

"  They  would  misjudge — they  would 
never  understand — "stammered  Robsart. 

"  You  are  not  a  man  to  mind  what  the 
world  said  of  you,  if  you  felt  that  you 
were  acting  an  honorable  part.  No  one 
can  be  brave  and  defy  others  when  he 
has  lost  his  own  self-respect.  And  I 
have  brought  this  upon  you— I — who 
meant  to  be  your  friend.  I  have  taught 
you  to  be  a  hypocrite,  to  walk  softly  and 
fear  opinion :  I  have  wasted  your  will 
and  your  manhood." 

"  Rose  !     Rose  !     Rose  !  " 

"  I  have  tried  to  make  myself  indispen- 
sable   to    you.     There   may   have    been 


7°  The  Herb-Moon. 

frowns  on  my  face,  but  you  always  found 
flowers  in  your  room.  And  you  knew 
who  put  them  there.  That  has  been  my 
method  all  through — it  was  all  in  under- 
currents, and  in  hidden  ways — never 
frank,  never  in  broad  sunlight.  Oh, 
promise  me  that  you  will  go  !  " 

"  You  ask  a  hard  thing." 

"  Promise  me,"  she  repeated.  "  It  is 
the  only  favor  I  have  ever  begged  from 
you." 

Robsart  had  not  accepted  one  word  of 
Rose's  self-condemnation,  for  he  knew 
full  well  the  woman  she  was,  and  neither 
anything  that  others  might  say  about 
her,  nor  anything  she  might  imagine 
against  herself  could  make  him  think 
her  other  than  the  least  selfish  soul  he 
had  ever  met  or  heard  of.  She  saw  this 
faith  in  his  face,  and  although  she  had 
meant  him  to  think  her,  and  indeed 
thought  herself,  quite  unworthy  of  such 
trust,  she    could    not    help    feeling   glad 


Lovers  Can  Talk  Reason.  71 

that  she  was  dear  to  one  whom,  she  was 
not  afraid  to  own,  she  loved  above  any 
creature  on  earth. 

"  Promise  me,"  she  cried,  once  more, 
"  that  you  will  go." 

"And  what  of  Edward  ?  "  he  asked. 

Rose  looked  at  him  in  despair. 

"  I  had  forgotten  Edward,"  she  said. 
"  He  would  soon  get  tired  of  living  alone 
with  me.     Oh,  what  shall  I  do?  " 

Robsart  felt  the  blood  grow  warm  once 
more  in  his  veins,  for  the  fear  of  leaving 
Rose  had  seemed  to  change  him  to  stone. 

"  It  would  kill  Edward  to  lose  you," 
she  murmured ;  "  he  cannot  live  without 
sympathy,  and  no  one  is  so  kind  to  him 
as  you  are." 

"You  see!"  said  Robsart;  "I  have 
acted  for  the  best." 

The  poor  woman  smiled,  and,  going 
behind  him,  placed  a  hand  on  each  of 
his  shoulders,  and  looked  down  on  him 
as   though    he    were   a   child    who    had 


72  The  Herb-Moon* 

stumbled   through   a  lesson    with    more 
pains  than  success. 

"  You  acted  generously,"  she  whis- 
pered ;  "  don't  think  I  can  ever  forget 
it,"  then,  as  she  could  not  add  more  be- 
cause of  the  anguish  of  her  soul,  she 
went  quickly  away,  blind  with  tears,  to 
her  own  room, 


CHAPTER  V. 
Susan  Sheds  Tears. 

THE  next  morning,  after  Robsart  had 
gone  to  the  factory  and  while  Edward 
was  at  church,  practising,  Rose  told 
Susan  that  she  would  be  leaving  Ottley 
that  day  for  London.  As  she  went  there 
twice  a  year  or  oftener  on  business  con- 
nected with  her  needlework,  Susan 
showed  no  surprise  at  the  news. 

"  But,"  said  Rose,  "  I  do  not  wish  my 
brother  to  know  that  I  am  going,  because 
leave-takings  make  him  very  ill,  and,  as 
you  remember,  the  scene  last  time  I  went 
away  exhausted  every  one  in  the  house ! 
But  if  he  comes  home  as  usual  and  finds 
me  absent,  he  will  make  the  best  of  it  at 
once  and  wait  patiently  till  I  return." 


74  The  Herb-Moon. 

Here  she  checked  herself,  and  stood 
where  Susan  could  not  see  her  face.  She 
had  been  awake  most  of  the  night,  saying 
things  over  and  over  again,  and  watching 
for  daylight. 

"  Mr.  Edward  is  just  like  a  child,"  said 
Susan,  as  she  knotted  the  cords  of  Mrs. 
Arden's  box — which  stood  between  the 
mahogany  chest  of  drawers  and  the  dress- 
ing-table draped  with  flowered  muslin 
over  pink  calico  ;  "  he  will  never  be  manly 
till  he's  married." 

"You  want  to  marry  everybody,"  said 
Rose,  laughing  in  spite  of  her  grief. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Susan,  "  for  mar- 
riage is  natural.  Mr.  Edward  would 
have  found  a  wife  long  ago  if  you  hadn't 
taken  such  care  of  him — treating  him  like 
a  pet  lamb  and  talking  to  him  as  if  he 
was  an  old  maid.  Never  let  a  man  forget 
that  he's  a  man — that's  what  I  say.  It's 
mothers  and  sisters  who  make  half  the 
bad    husbands    you    hear    about — for   no 


Susan  Sheds  Tears.  75 

wife  worth  the  name  wants  to  keep  her 
man  short-coated !  But  if  many  women 
could  have  their  will,  they  would  make 
their  boys  and  brothers  wear  christening 
robes  and  eat  pap  till  they  turned  fifty — 
aye,  and  more.  And  it  isn't  love  so 
much  as  wanting  to  have  their  own  way 
with  'em  and  to  have  'em  like  rabbits  in 
a  cage.  Lord  ;  I  know  by  myself.  I 
could  keep  Adam  hanging  on  my  arm 
all  day  if  I  hadn't  the  sense  to  see  it 
would  make  him  a  softie.  There's  enough 
real  children  in  the  world  for  women  to 
look  after  without  dilly-dallying  about 
with  grown  men.  When  I  get  one  of 
these  petting  moods  on,  I  just  call  on  my 
poor  sister — who  is  a  widow  with  nine — 
and  I  just  set  to  work  mending  their 
clothes  and  washing  their  heads — the 
eldest  has  a  lovely  head  of  hair,  all  curls. 
It's  a  treat  to  brush  it." 

The  sober  sense  in  Susan's  flying  words 
did    not    fail    to  enter  deep    into  Rose's 


76  The  Herb-Moon. 

vexed  mind.  Her  foolish  devotion  to 
Edward  and  Robsart  had,  in  each  case, 
been  harmful  rather  than  a  benefit.  She 
saw  this  clearly,  and,  although  her  heart 
died  within  her  at  the  thought  of  parting 
from  them,  the  knowledge  that  the 
separation  was,  in  every  sense,  to  their 
gain,  gave  new  life  to  her  purpose  and 
fresh  resolution  to  her  fainting  soul. 
She  walked  from  room  to  room,  gazing 
at  each  piece  of  furniture  and  each  poor 
ornament  with  eyes  so  tender  and  so  sad, 
that  Susan,  not  knowing  why,  could  not 
help  crying. 

"  Oh  dear !  "  said  she,  "  I  do  hate  to 
see  anybody  go.  Who  can  say  when 
they  will  come  back?  " 

The  trees  rustled  and  a  linnet  flew  out 
of  the  hedge  near  the  window. 

"  You  won't  forget  to  put  crumbs  on 
the  sill  every  morning,"  said  Rose,  pulling 
down  her  thick  veil ;  "  and  tell  my 
brother  I  will  write  to  him  from  London. 


Susan  Sheds  Tears.  77 

I  have  put  Mr.  Robsart's  linen  in  perfect 
order,  and  I  have  marked  all  his  new 
handkerchiefs." 

She  gathered  a  little  bunch  of  flowers 
from  the  garden,  drank  the  tea  which 
Susan  gave  her,  and  drove  away  in  the 
pony-trap  with  Adam.  Susan  watched 
till  she  could  no  longer  see  the  top  of 
Adam's  whip  above  the  hedges.  Then 
she  went  to  feed  the  pigs,  who  were 
squealing  with  all  their  might  because  she 
had  forgotten  them  for  five  minutes. 


CHAPTER  VL 
Some  Soliloquies. 

ROSE,  after  the  manner  of  all  women, 
often  spoke  on  impulse  and  without  due 
reflection,  but  her  actions — and  in  this 
respect  she  differed  from  many  of  her  sex 
— were  always  cautious  and  extremely  dis- 
creet. She  was  not  one  to  lose  her  head 
even  in  the  whirlwind  of  adversity,  and 
when  she  seemed  least  considerate,  it 
would  be  found,  on  observing  her  con- 
duct, that  she  showed  much  deliberation. 
Before  she  packed  her  box  that  morning, 
she  had  reasoned  thus  : — 

"  If     Robsart     goes     to     Lauderston, 
Edward  could  join  him  without  difficulty,    • 
for  his  reputation  is  already  known  there 
and  he  would  soon  find  pupils.     But  if  I 


Some  Soliloquies.  79 

went  to  Lauderston,  too,  it  would  cause 
gossip,  and,  what  is  worse,  we  should  con- 
tinue the  same  life  that  we  lead  here. 
Edward,  poor  soul,  must  learn  to  take 
care  of  himself  " — here  she  wept  bitterly — 
"  and  Robsart  must  forget  me.  I  hope 
he  will  marry  a  sweet,  good  girl,  who  will 
love  him  as  he  deserves.  But  sweet,  good 
girls  are  scarce,  and  he  must  not  make 
his  choice  in  a  hurry."  At  this  she  grew 
breathless,  and,  feeling  like  a  dead  thing 
without  a  grave  and  with  no  one  to  close 
her  eyes,  she  fell,  in  a  heap,  on  her  bed. 
Then  she  remembered  that  there  was  no 
time  to  be  lost,  so  she  bathed  and  dressed, 
and  plaited  her  hair,  and  sang  cheerful 
songs  in  a  loud  voice  lest  Robsart— who 
was  eating  his  early  breakfast  in  the  room 
below — should  think  she  was  unhappy 
after  their  conversation  of  the  previous 
evening:  * :  ■      •  *. 

.  Now,  therefore,- that  the  first  step  was 
taken  "and  ^she  found  herself  driving  away, 


80  The  Herb-Moom 

her  thoughts  grew  calmer  and  the  tears 
fell  kindly  on  her  face,  making  it  young. 
But  she  did  not  know  this,  and  wondered 
why  a  recruiting  sergeant,  who  happened 
to  be  at  the  railway,  called  her  "  Miss," 
and  helped  her  with  her  luggage  most 
politely.  He  had  a  gallant  heart  for 
pretty  eyes  and  women  in  distress.  As 
the  train  glided  from  the  station,  Rose 
looked  out  of  the  carriage  window  and 
saw  once  more  the  little  high-street  with 
its  row  of  artless  shops,  and  the  gray 
spire  of  the  parish  church  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  the  smoke  of  the  factory, 
beyond. 

When  Robsart  returned  in  the  after- 
noon, he  was  as  little  astonished  as 
Susan  at  the  mere  news  of  Rose's  excur- 
sion to  town,  but  he  felt  that  the  journey 
that  day  was  not  like  those  she  had  taken 
before.  This  time  she  would  never 
return.  He  remembered  her  sorrowful 
look — the  trembling  voice  when  she  had 


Some  Soliloquies*  81 

told  him  that  they  must  part.  She  was 
not  a  woman  who  would  either  grieve  or 
falter  over  an  unmeant,  unreal  farewell. 
There  were  some  who  coquetted  with 
experience,  meeting  heroic  hours  un- 
marked in  time,  calling  back  fugitive  sor- 
rows, conjuring  up  the  phantom  of  de- 
spair, but  Rose  was  not  one  of  these. 
Robsart's  heart,  sick  with  vexation  and 
disappointment,  rebelled  against  her 
austere  code  of  honor,  and  the  fierce 
intolerance  of  all  restraint,  which,  so  long 
as  she  was,  at  all  events,  near  him,  burnt 
low,  now  burst  forth — a  vehement,  three- 
edged  flame.  She  was  cold,  she  was  piti- 
less, she  was  ungrateful !  He  had  asked 
so  little — merely  the  right  to  see  her 
daily,  to  sit  at  the  same  table,  to  lodge 
under  the  same  roof.  Since  that  one 
evening  long  ago  had  he  ever  uttered  one 
word,  given  a  sign  which  the  whole  of 
Ottley  might  not  have  heard  and  wit- 
nessed ?    The  mutinous  thoughts,  unan- 


82  The  Herb-Moon. 

swered  doubts,  uneasy  wonderings  long 
forgotten,  which  belonged  to  the  early 
days  of  his  love  for  Rose,  returned  again, 
and  swept,  like  a  tempest,  through  the 
woods  of  his  mind,  stirring  every  feather 
of  the  owl — his  philosophy — that  slept 
there.  He  fled  from  the  house  and  wan- 
dered far  out  into  the  fields,  addressing 
Rose  in  imagination,  and  almost  persuad- 
ing himself  that  he  hated  her  very  name. 
"  I  do  not  understand  your  friend- 
ship," he  said  :  "  you  leave  me  without  a 
word  and  you  did  not  write  me  even  a 
line.  How  am  I  to  believe  in  an  affec- 
tion which  can  disguise  itself  so  admira- 
bly? Ah,  Rose,  don't  be  deceived! 
There  is  no  love  in  you.  You  sit  at  your 
work,  thinking  of  fancies  and  fantasms 
and  all  the  melting  imagery  of  false  sen- 
timent, till,  seeing  me  is  the  dream  and 
not  seeing  me  the  reality.  What  is  my 
companionship  to  you?  what  is  my  de- 
votion   to   you  ?  what    am    I    myself   to 


Some  Soliloquies*  83 

you  ?  Nothing.  You  would  rather  not 
talk  with  me — you  would  prefer  never 
meeting  me.  You  want  to  flirt  with  my 
shadow — without  my  knowledge  and  be- 
hind my  back !  If  I  misjudge  you,  I  am 
sorry.  You  may  have  religion  and 
thoughts  about  duty  and  thoughts  about 
honor,  but  all  the  religion  in  heaven  and 
all  the  duty  preached  in  sermons  and  all 
the  honor  described  in  poetry  would  not 
make  you  renounce  love  so  easily  if  you 
were  not,  spirit  and  body,  as  cold  as  the 
sea! 

He  had  the  temperament  known  in 
common  language  as  steady-going,  and 
that  poetical  love  which  spends  itself  in 
imagination — dissipating  the  soul  in  arti- 
ficial emotions  and  forgetting  the  practi- 
cal kindnesses  of  true  friendship — seemed 
to  him  the  grossest  form  of  insincerity. 
He  believed  that  a  man  should  choose  a 
wife,  protect  her,  provide  for  her,  cherish 
her,  be  faithful  to  her;   intrigues,  flirta- 


84  The  Herb-Moon* 

tions,  verse-making  and  serenading  filled 
him  with  an  equal  abhorrence,  and,  in  his 
judgment,  were  equally  indecent.  He 
permitted  courtship  out  of  deference  to 
woman's  more  timorous  nature  and  the 
sublime  example  of  Jacob,  but  had  it 
been  possible,  without  rudeness  or  a  too 
mercantile  appreciation  of  the  value  of 
time,  to  avoid  these  considerations,  he 
would  certainly  have  despised  that  cus- 
tomary dalliance  also.  Robsart's  whole 
being  stood  rooted  in  affection  ;  with  him 
it  was  so  natural  and  right  a  thing  to 
love,  that,  when  Edward  spoke,  as  he 
often  did,  of  degrading  ones  aspirations 
by  the  puny  cares  of  marriage,  he  supposed 
it  the  mere  peevishness  of  an  invalid. 
Nor  could  he  believe  that  the  organist 
really  echoed  the  opinions  of  many  able- 
bodied  young  men  who  exhausted  their 
energy  denouncing  the  noblest  responsi- 
bilities in  life,  seeking  for  wives  who 
would   pay  their  debts,  flattering  women 


Some  Soliloquies.  85 

who  were  more  generous  than  wise.  To- 
day, however,  in  his  bitterness  against 
Rose,  he  found  more  reasons  than  ill- 
health  for  Edward's  cynicism,  and  decided 
that  brother  and  sister  had  each  a  callous- 
ness of  heart  which  was,  luckily,  as  rare  as 
it  was  odious. 

"  Ah,  Rose,"  he  continued,  still  easing 
his  despair  in  an  imaginary  conversation ; 
"  you  have  read  the  lives  of  the  saints 
and  all  the  imitations  of  Christ,  which, 
just  because  they  are  but  imitations,  are 
most  dangerous  and  misleading.  Noth- 
ing in  nature  is  solitary — go  into  a  desert 
and  you  will  be  the  only  lonely  thing 
there !  The  sky  has  its  clouds  and  its 
stars  ;  each  grain  of  sand  is  surrounded  by 
grains  of  sand  !  There  are  deep  sorrows 
and  killing  cares  in  life,  but  the  encour- 
agement and  love  of  friends  were  given  us 
to  make  all  difficulties  bearable.  To 
ignore  such  aid  is  like  a  soldier  going  out 
to  fight  the  enemy  singlehanded,  leaving 


86  The  Herb-Moon. 

his  armor  at  home,  despising  his  com- 
rades and  setting  his  commander  at 
defiance.  We  should  not  call  such  fool- 
hardiness  brave,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
most  insolent ! " 

The  suspicion  that  he  was  wronging 
poor  Rose  more  than  cruelly  was  not  the 
least  part  of  his  suffering.  Was  not  her 
very  flight — abrupt,  unkind,  capricious 
though  it  seemed — a  proof,  if  proof  were 
needed,  that  she  thought  of  him  not  too 
seldom  but  far  too  much  ?  Yet  why 
should  she  torture  herself  with  these 
scruples  of  conscience  ?  why  should  she 
lock  herself  in  a  dingy  room  and  think 
it  a  sin  to  need  company,  to  like  one 
man  a  little  better — even  a  great  deal 
better — than  all  others?  What  more  nat- 
ural ?  what  so  right  ? 

And  now — for  a  whim,  a  superstitious 
theory  of  virtue — she  had  left  him.  He 
determined  to  bear  her  decision  for  a 
time,  at   all  events,  without    complaint. 


Some  Soliloquies.  87 

He  felt  too  proud,  too  sore  to  write  her 
any  letter  or  to  urge  her  coming  back. 
He  told  his  story  to  the  evening  and  ut- 
tered his  reproaches  to  the  air. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

Two  Gentlemen  of  the  Old  School. 

Every  Wednesday  evening,  Mr.  Law- 
rence, the  curate,  and  Mr.  Sledges,  the 
lawyer,  used  to  meet  at  Wrestle's  Farm — 
sometimes  for  a  hand  at  whist  and  some- 
times for  a  game  of  chess  with  Robsart. 
These  reunions  had  been  instituted,  it  was 
said,  for  the  entertainment  of  poor  Banish, 
who,  when  he  felt  in  the  mood,  could 
out-talk  any  man  or  woman  in  the  county. 
It  not  infrequently  happened,  therefore, 
that  the  visitors  left  well  stocked  with 
information  for  the  week,  and  Edward 
remained,  sore  of  throat,  exhausted,  pray- 
ing for  solitude.  These  interruptions  of 
his  self-contemplative  life  were  not,  how- 
ever, so  bad    for  his  soul  as  his  tongue, 


Two  Gentlemen  of  the  Old  School*        89 

and  Rose,  in  leaving  Ottley  that  morning, 
had  remembered,  with  much  comfort,  the 
inevitable  card-party  of  the  evening.  It 
would  relieve  any  melancholy  or  resent- 
ment he  might,  at  first,  feel  in  learning 
of  her  departure. 

When  Robsart  came  back  from  his 
long  walk,  the  two  men  were  already  in 
the  parlor  each  with  a  glass  of  ale  and 
both  apparently  waiting  to  be  amused. 
Mr.  Lawrence,  the  curate,  was  short, 
motherly  in  outline,  over  fifty,  with 
small  features  and  merry  eyes.  He  was 
much  in  demand  for  christenings,  because 
he  held  babies  so  well  and  was  not  heavy- 
handed  with  the  water.  The  one  man  he 
found  it  hard  to  agree  with  was  Sledges, 
the  solicitor,  who  always  spoke  of  Rome 
and  Canterbury  as  though  they  were  the 
parties  in  a  divorce  suit. 

Sledges,  himself,  was  all  discretion,  and 
such  was  his  knowledge  of  the  law,  that, 
when  it  was   by   any  means  possible,  he 


9°  The  Herb-Moon. 

implored  his  clients  to  suffer  any  outrage 
or  injustice  rather  than  expose  their 
grievances  in  Court.  In  appearance  he 
was  rather  like  a  bad  portrait  of  Macready 
as  Richard  III.,  and  his  resemblance  to 
that  tragedian  cost  him  an  immense 
amount  of  exertion  in  the  striking  of  atti- 
tudes and  a  great  deal  of  time  in  the  ar- 
rangement of  his  hair.  A  windy  day,  for 
instance,  disturbed  the  effect  considerably. 

Edward,  when  Robsart  entered,  was 
walking  up  and  down  the  little  room, 
reading  a  letter  aloud  and  muttering 
comments,  which,  though  inaudible  as 
speech,  betrayed,  by  their  tone,  the  agi- 
tation of  his  mind. 

"  I  would  decide  one  way  or  the  other," 
the  curate  was  saying,  "  and  then  I  should 
think  no  more  about  it.  I  have  always 
found  that  nearly  every  step  we  take  in 
life  is  to  be  regretted — if  we  once  begin 
to  wonder  how  many  other  steps  might 
have  been  possible." 


Two  Gentlemen  of  the  Old  School*        91 

"Then,"  said  Sledges,  sternly,  "how 
can  you  urge  our  friend  to  make  a  hasty 
decision  ?  I  never  answer  a  letter  until  I 
have  slept  upon  it,  and,  when  people  ask 
me  for  a  reply  by  return  of  post,  I  always 
suspect  that  they  are  more  eager  for  their 
own  interests  than  mine  !  " 

"  Your  calling  is  such,"  said  the  curate, 
"  that  you  would  naturally  err  rather  on 
the  side  of  caution  than  on  the  side  of 
faith.  And  if  one  were  to  examine  the 
lives  directed  by  the  Church  as  opposed 
to  the  lives  advised  by  the  Law,  we 
should  find,  I  think,  that  if  the  confident 
are  sometimes  deceived,  the  worldly-wise 
are  always  unhappy.  And  I  will  tell  you 
why.  There  is  one  wisdom  only,  and 
that  is  heavenly.  Every  other  kind  is 
but  a  doctrine  of  vanity,  teaching  disap- 
pointment and  destruction." 

"If,"  rejoined  Mr.  Sledges,  "I  be- 
lieved in  prayer,  I  should  beg  to  be 
delivered  from  pride  of  intellect  !  " 


92  The  Herb-Moon. 

"And  I,"  observed  the  curate,  "thank 
God,  night  and  morning,  that,  though 
surrounded  by  beings  with  neither  true 
opinions  nor  the  courage  of  them,  I  have 
a  conviction  for  which  I  would  die  and 
for  which  I  am  perfectly  willing  to  en- 
dure insult  " — here  he  observed  a  smile 
on  the  lawyer's  thin  mouth — "  aye,  sir, 
and  even  ridicule !  " 

Robsart  could  hardly  contain  his  anx- 
iety to  learn  the  cause  which  had  given 
rise  to  so  much  eloquence  and  wrath 
in  his  friend's  learned  visitors.  Nor  was 
his  curiosity  made  less  poignant  when 
Edward,  rousing  himself  from  a  dolor 
till  that  moment  unutterable,  made  the 
following  lament : 

"  It  will  mean  shaving  my  beard  !  " 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  you  there,"  said 
the  curate. 

"  There  again  I  must  beg  to  differ  with 
you,  Mr.  Lawrence,"  said  Sledges.  "  The 
pleasures   of   society  are  only  to  be  en- 


Two  Gentlemen  of  the  Old  School.         93 

joyed  by  those  who  conform  to  its  regu- 
lations. If  a  young  lady  of  most  respect- 
able connections  invite  me  to  her  tea-table, 
and,  after  mature  consideration,  I  decide 
to  take  the  advantage  for  what  it  may  be 
worth,  I  do  not  injure  that  advantage  by 
presenting  myself  as  its  recipient  in  inap- 
propriate habiliments  !  It  would  not  be 
dignified,  sir.  I  may  even  say  it  would 
show  a  want  of  respect  for  the  young 
lady,  which  her  parents,  should  she  have 
any,  would  very  properly  resent." 

More  and  more  bewildered,  Robsart 
turned  to  Banish  for  an  explanation. 
The  organist,  without  a  word,  gave  him 
the  letter.  It  was  written  in  the  auda- 
cious hand  of  Miss  Chloe  Crecy,  and 
contained  the  hope  that  he,  Edward, 
would  give  her  the  pleasure  of  his  com- 
pany at  a  little  tea  she  was  giving,  after 
the  cricket -match,  on  the  morrow.  Mr. 
Sledges  and  Mr.  Lawrence  watched  Rob- 
sart's  face  and  waited,  with  painful  inter- 


94  The  Herb-Moon. 

est,  for  his  opinion.  In  the  country,  such 
a  small  event  as  the  attending  or  not 
attending  a  tea-party  has  an  importance 
not  to  be  estimated  by  those  who  live  in 
a  city,  and  not  to  be  exaggerated  by 
those  who  would  attempt  to  describe  it. 

"  What  would  you  do  when  you 
got  there,  Edward?"  asked  the  clerk; 
"  would  it  amuse  you  ?  " 

"  One  question  at  a  time,  please,  Mr. 
Robsart,"  said  Sledges,  who  felt  he  was 
protecting  a  client. 

Edward  rubbed  his  forehead. 

"  How  can  I  tell  whether  it  would 
amuse  me  ?  "  said  he.  "  If  I  knew  that, 
I  could  make  up  my  mind  at  once !  Say 
I  shaved  my  beard,  spent  half  an  hour 
driving  to  '  Randalls,'  an  hour  there,  half 
an  hour  coming  back,  and  did  not  enjoy 
it,  what  on  earth  could  atone  to  me  for 
the  loss  of  time?  But  if,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  enjoyed  the  change,  it  would 
really  seem  worth  the  trouble !  " 


Two  Gentlemen  of  the  Old  School.        95 

"  Every  move  in  life,"  said  Robsart, 
determined  to  preserve  the  solemnity  of 
the  occasion,  "  is  an  experiment.  There 
is  no  such  thing  as  an  absolute  cer- 
tainty." 

The  curate  held  up  his  suave  hands. 

"  Don't  say  that,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Hope,  at  least,  is  sure  and  certain." 

"Hope?"  said  Sledges;  "the  mere 
name  is  the  antithesis  of  reason.  My 
experience  has  taught  me  to  take  the 
gloomiest  view  of  all  subjects.  That  is 
why  I  am  never  disappointed.  Things 
sometimes  turn  out  better — but  they  are 
never  worse — than  my  anticipations.  If 
I  have  a  cold,  I  am  always  surprised  if  it 
does  not  kill  me.  If  I  have  to  defend  an 
honest  client,  I  am  always  astonished  if 
we  win  the  day  !  " 

"I  note,"  said  Mr.  Lawrence,  "that 
the  possibility  of  divine  intervention  does 
not  enter  into  your  calculations." 

"I  am  not  so  presumptuous,  sir,  as  to 


96  The  Herb-Moon. 

think,"  replied  the  solicitor,  "  that  God 
Almighty  would  either  disturb  the  laws 
of  nature  or  suborn  an  English  jury ! 
And,  with  no  desire  to  be  personal,  I  beg 
to  observe  that  all  such  blasphemous  pre- 
sumption invariably  emanates  from  the 
Church  ! " 

Edward  had  now  risen,  and  was  exam- 
ining his  features  in  the  small  mirror 
which  hung  over  the  mantelpiece. 

"  My  sister,"  said  he,  "  never  liked  this 
beard.  It  would  please  her,  I  know, 
to  see  me  clean-shaven.  And  if  she 
were  here,  she  would  wish  me  to  go  to 
this  ridiculous  entertainment  at  Miss 
Crecy's ! " 

"  Ah,"  said  Mr.  Lawrence,  with 
triumph,  "  now  we  have  come  to  a  mo- 
tive which  can  never  be  barren.  Think 
how  your  actions  will  affect  the  happi- 
ness of  others,  and  then  you  can  always 
be  sure  of  a  profitable  result.  If  you 
visit  this  lady  out  of  deference  to  Mrs. 


Two  Gentlemen  of  the  Old  School*        97 

Arden,  it  cannot  matter  in  the  least 
whether  the  afternoon  is  dull  or  lively. 
You  will  have  attained  your  point  in  that 
you  have  gratified  the  kind  intention  of 
another." 

"A  very  dangerous  theory,  if  I  may 
say  so,"  interrupted  Sledges,  "  for,  if  we 
always  observed  our  friends'  wishes  at  the 
sacrifice  of  our  own,  we  might  often  find 
ourselves  committed  to  much  that  would 
be  unwise  and  more  that  might  even  be 
immoral ! " 

"  By  no  means,"  said  Mr.  Lawrence, 
"  and  in  support  of  my  denial  let  me 
quote  the  well-known  rule  attributed  by 
Cicero  to  Laelius  :  Ut  neque  rogemus  res 
turpes,  nee  faciamus  rogati :  that  we 
neither  require  of  our  friends  the  perform- 
ance of  base  things,  nor,  being  requested 
of  them,  perform  such  ourselves.  Thus, 
I  should  find  no  virtue  in  a  son's  commit- 
ting theft  at  his  father's  command,  nor 
should  I  discover  any  fine  flavor  of  fidel- 


98  The  Herfe-Moon. 

ity  in  a  wife  who  obeyed  an  evil  husband. 
Much  misery  and  unhappiness  has  been 
caused  by  a  misapprehension  and  wrong 
exposition  of  the  laws  of  obedience." 

"Aye,  indeed,"  exclaimed  Edward, 
"  and  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  My 
poor  sister  would  have  given  much  to 
have  heard  such  words  from  a  clergyman 
in  her  youth.  The  poor  soul  was  taught 
such  hideous  rules  of  wifely  duty,  that, 
for  several  years,  she  hated  St.  Paul,  and 
could  not  believe  in  a  church  which  called 
marriage  a  sacrament.  And  neither  God 
nor  St.  Paul  nor  marriage  were  at  fault, 
but  her  false  teachers,  who  perverted 
what  was  sacred  into  vileness,  and  what 
was  noble  into  what  was  ignoble  !  " 

His  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  even 
Robsart,  who  had  grown  pale  at  the 
recollection  of  Rose's  suffering,  was  sur- 
prised to  find  that  the  organist  had  ever 
given  so  much  thought  to  his  sister's 
I  roubles. 


Two  Gentlemen  of  the  Old  School.        99 

"A  most  unfortunate  affair,"  said  Mr. 
Sledges.  "  But  very  few  women  at  the 
present  day  hold  such  exalted  ideas  of 
duty  and  self-abnegation  as  Mrs.  Arden  ! 
Her  case  is  not  a  common  one." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Mr.  Lawrence,  "  I 
could  tell  you  of  many  such  cases.  We 
clergymen  know  the  patient  souls  who 
endure :  you  lawyers  only  meet  the 
rebels  and  fighters — those  who  have 
strong  friends  to  support  them  in  court, 
and  money  to  pay  for  champions  !  The 
age  of  chivalry,  sir,  is  past." 

Edward  walked  to  the  writing-table  and 
sat  down. 

"  I  will  go  to  Miss  Crecy's,"  said  he. 

They  all  remained  silent  while  he  com- 
posed his  note. 

"  And  I  will  shave  my  beard,"  he  added, 
as  he  fastened  the  envelope. 

Susan  carried  the  letter  to  the  post,  and 
the  four  men  sat  down  to  a  game  of 
whist. 


CHAPTER  VIE. 

Introducing   a  Lady  who   Disapproved  of 
Cynicism. 

WHEN  Rose  reached  London,  she  drove, 
in  a  cab,  to  the  house  of  the  one  rich  per- 
son who  took  an  interest  in  her  welfare 
— Mrs.  Harrowby  of   Cavendish  Square. 

The  footman  who  opened  the  door  and 
the  butler  who  came  forward  had  each  an 
air  of  anxiety  and  preoccupation  which 
did  not  escape  Mrs.  Arden's  notice.  She 
wondered,  with  many  misgivings,  what  it 
could  mean,  and,  in  a  feverish  terror,  fol- 
lowed the  elder  of  the  two  servants  across 
the  chilly  hall  hung  with  spears  and  the 
hides  of  beasts  (from  the  collection  of  the 
late  General  Sir  Frankfort  Harrowby), 
and  up  the  staircase. 


Lady  who  Disapproved  of  Cynicism.     101 

The  butler  surveyed  Rose's  shabby 
gown,  and,  without  an  effort,  remembered 
her  name. 

"  Mrs.  Arden,"  said  he,  throwing  open 
a  massive  white  door.  The  room  before 
her  was  square,  with  low  walls  and  a  high 
white  sloping  ceiling.  The  paper  of  yel- 
low dahlias  and  green  leaves,  the  chintz  of 
apple-blossoms  which  covered  the  sofas 
and  chairs,  and  the  silvery  curtains  em- 
broidered with  grapes  and  apricots,  gave 
the  prospect  a  garden-like  appearance. 
The  oval  mirror  on  the  dressing-table 
was  of  Pompadour  design — a  gilt  thing  of 
wrought  butterflies,  tulips,  and  ribbon- 
ends.  There  was  a  large  writing-table 
neatly  set  out  with  a  blotting-pad,  silver 
candlesticks,  and  a  small  brazen  inkstand 
held  up  by  an  ivory  Muse.  Some  relig- 
ious papers  and  The  Times  were  piled 
up  near  a  red  morocco  box  of  stationery. 
An  alabaster  clock  stood  on  the  mantel- 
piece, and  above  it,  a  mirror,  in  a  frame 


102  The  Herb-Moon. 

of  gilt  laurels  and  rosettes,  reflected  the 
flaming  flowers  of  the  wall-paper. 

Mrs.  Harrowby  was  old,  so  she  lay 
propped  up  upon  three  lace-edged  pillows 
in  an  ornate  French  bedstead  which 
looked  too  frivolous  to  die  in.  Carved 
cupids  with  gold  wings  supported  the 
blue  silk  canopy,  and  the  coverlet  was  of 
lilac  silk  worked  with  glittering  beads 
and  little  seed-pearls.  Mrs.  Harrowby 
had  been  beautiful  and  she  was  still 
admired.  Many  were  the  tales  she  could 
tell  of  love  and  ambition,  and  many  were 
the  hearts  she  had  broken.  But  she  had 
given  her  own  to  one  only  and  he  had 
failed  her.  Yet  because  Rose  was  his 
daughter  she  trusted  her  above  all  women. 

"  My  dear  Rose,"  she  exclaimed,  when 
she  entered,  "  this  is  a  great  surprise.  I 
was  on  the  point  of  writing  to  you. 
You  look  wretchedly  ill,  but  then  I  never 
approved  of  your  living  at  Ottley.  Your 
father   would    have   perished    in   such    a 


Lady  who  Disapproved  of  Cynicism.     103 

place.  He  was  a  man  who  loved  gaiety 
and  all  that  was  bright.  Your  features 
and  eyes  are  like  his,  but  in  spirit  you 
miss  him  completely.  Your  arrival  in 
town  to-day  is  providential.  Life,  how- 
ever, is  full  of  such  accidents.  I  wish  I 
could  find  time  to  write  a  book,  for  I  am 
sure  it  would  do  a  great  deal  of  good. 
But — oh,  my  dear  !  I  have  had  such  a 
terrible  grief.  Can  I  bring  myself  to 
speak  of  it?  " 

"  It  is  better,"  said  Rose,  with  a  sigh, 
"to  tell  a  trouble  than  to  bear  it  alone." 

"  Darrell,  my  maid,"  said  Mrs.  Har- 
rowby,  "  Darrell,  who  has  been  my 
trusted  servant  for  years,  who  has  trav- 
eled with  me  and  on  whom  I  have 
showered  many  kindnesses — has  suddenly 
left  me  to  get  married  !  Such  selfishness 
has  never  been  known.  She  called  here 
in  her  wedding  dress,  and  the  very  lace 
on  her  bonnet  was  a  piece  I  had  given 
her  because  it  did   not  suit  me !     I  wish 


104  The  Herb-Moon. 

now  that  I  had  sent  it  to  you.  But  of 
course,  dear,  she  was  on  the  spot !  I 
shall  take  her  name  out  of  my  will.  She 
is  a  heartless  person." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Rose,  "  she  fell  in 
love ! " 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense.  Did  you  ever 
see  the  creature?  She  had  a  figure  like  a 
board.  And  now — when  she  is  over  forty 
— she  marries  a  most  respectable  pastry 
cook.  What  could  the  man  see  in  her  ? 
You  may  depend  that  he  is  after  her  sav- 
ings. And  now  I  have  done  with  maids. 
I  want  some  quiet  nice  soul  with  no  idea 
of  bettering  herself  or  of  catching  a  hus- 
band— a  lady,  in  fact,  my  dear.  I 
thought  of  you  at  once.  That  is  why  I 
meant  to  write.  I  will  give  you  seventy 
pound  a  year,  and  you  need  not  dress 
much.  You  could  put  by  half  your  sal- 
ary, and  save  up  a  little  for  your  old  age. 
Shall  we  say  that  everything  is  settled 
and  that  you  will  come  ?  " 


Lady  who  Disapproved  of  Cynicism.     105 

Rose  was  so  astonished  at  what  she 
considered  direct  assistance  from  Heaven 
in  her  hour  of  need,  that  she  clapped  her 
hands  till  Mrs.  Harrowby  herself  won- 
dered why  any  creature  should  show 
such  extreme  delight  at  the  prospect  of 
sharing  her  society,  her  ailments,  and  her 
humors. 

"  I  daresay,"  said  she,  "  that  you  will 
sometimes  find  me  trying.  My  nerves 
are  shocking,  and  I  am  very  particular.  I 
hope  you  have  given  up  Newman's  ser- 
mons, for  he  is  not  a  writer  I  approve  of. 
If  you  want  Sunday  reading,  the  new 
archdeacon  has  published  some  charming 
things  on  Poverty,  and  for  week-days, 
there  is  no  one  like  dear  Sir  Walter  or 
Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre.  I  delight  in 
dear  Saint-Pierre,  and  can  always  cry  over 
the  death  of  Virginia.  But  Thackeray — 
as  dear  old  Lord  Bingham  once  said  to 
me — Thackeray  is  the  enemy  of  the  hu- 
man race — a  wicked  cynic.     My  husband 


106  The  Herb-Moon. 

would  not  read  him  in  my  presence ! 
And  now,  dear  Rose,  go  to  your  room. 
The  usual  one  on  the  fifth  floor  near  the 
cistern ;  unpack  your  box,  and  come 
back  to  me  directly.  I  shall  go  down  to 
dinner  to-night,  for  Colonel  Thompson 
and  Sir  Harry  Blythe  are  coming,  and  I 
should  like  you  to  rearrange  the  neck  of 
my  ruby  velvet.  You  have  such  excel- 
lent taste ! " 

Now  all  this  she  said  in  guile  to  try 
Rose's  heart,  for  Mrs.  Harrowby  was  a 
woman  who  played  as  many  characters  as 
Proteus  had  shapes.  But  she  had  never 
cried  over  the  death  of  Virginia,  and  she 
hated  the  new  archdeacon. 

As  Rose  climbed  the  stairs  to  the  attic, 
her  feet  seemed  wings,  and,  when  she 
entered  that  narrow  room,  it  looked,  to 
her  grateful  sight,  the  turret  chamber  in 
a  fairy  palace.  Yet  the  walls  were  gray, 
and  the  curtains  at  the  one  small  win- 
dow, malignant  saffron.     In  one  corner  a 


Lady  who  Disapproved  of  Cynicism,     107 

wooden  bedstead  offered  uneasy  rest, 
and,  facing  it,  a  tin  stand,  with  a  basin 
and  jug,  trembled  in  the  draught  of  air 
which  crept  under  the  door  and  up 
through  the  gaping  boards.  A  mouse, 
as  Rose  came  in,  glided  from  the  cup- 
board to  the  hearth,  where,  with  a  squeal, 
it  disappeared.  Rose  placed  the  white 
flowers  she  had  brought  from  Ottley  on 
the  mantelpiece,  and,  when  she  bent  over 
their  petals  to  smell  them,  she  caught 
their  pallor,  and  they,  her  tears.  When 
she  lifted  her  face,  however,  a  breeze 
stirred  the  curtain  aside  and  the  glad  sun 
touched  her  sad  cheeks.  Her  lips  found 
a  song  to  sing :  the  pain  in  her  heart 
fell  asleep.  She  unlocked  her  little  box 
and  discovered,  well  pressed  down  on  her 
best  bonnet,  half  a  large  seed-cake  and  a 
bottle  of  balsam  for  colds,  which  the 
thoughtful  Susan  had  thrust  under  the 
lid  at  the  last  moment.  These  set  her 
laughing,    and,   when    she    scattered    the 


108  The  Herb-Moon. 

cake-crumbs  on  the  window-sill  for  wan- 
dering birds,  she  kissed  her  hand  toward 
Susan  at  Ottley  and  looked  up  at  the 
great,  great  sky  which  saw  them  both. 
And,  as  she  remembered  this,  she  seemed 
no  longer  separated  from  her  friends,  for 
she  sent  her  soul  into  the  vast  cloudland 
where  eternal  day  and  eternal  night  melt 
together  and  are  one  Dawn. 


CHAPTER  DC 
Concerning  Heroes,  Sorrow  and   a  Horse. 

It  wanted  but  two  hours  to  the  time 
fixed  for  Miss  Crecy's  party,  when  Susan 
laid  out  Edward's  clean  shirt  upon  his 
bed  and  placed  his  shoes,  well  cleaned  by 
Adam,  on  the  hearth-rug. 

"  They  use  more  starch  than  elbow- 
grease  at  Blackett's,"  said  she  to  the  little 
maid  who  assisted  her,  "  and  Blue  enough 
to  eat  away  the  sails  of  a  fishing  smack ! 
I  will  put  one  of  the  shirts  I  washed  last 
week  by  the  side  of  this,  tuck  some  pink 
paper  down  the  front,  and  I  lay  you  a 
penny  Mr.  Edward  will  take  it  for  the 
one  he  sent  to  be  falamered-up  by  those 
husseys  at  the  steam  laundry !  Men  are 
all   the   same.     Tney  a^ways  think  that 


no  The  Herb-Moon. 

something  they  are  going  to  get  is  better 
than  what  they  have  got !  He  has  shaved 
his  beard,  too — a  bit  of  foolishness  I 
don't  hold  with.  I  knew  a  gentleman — 
he  was  in  the  army — as  couldn't  please 
his  wife  no  way — she  was  an  invalid  lady 
that  wrote  poetry,  poor  soul — so  he  cut 
off  his  moustache  and  came  upon  her  sud- 
den. But  she  said  it  was  only  changing  a 
monster  she  knew  for  a  monster  she  didn't 
know,  and  she  got  colder  than  ever.  He 
was  buried  at  Kensal  Green,  and  she  had 
a  lovely  monument  put  over  him — an 
angel  weeping  by  a  cypress,  with  one  finger 
pointing  up  to  heaven.  And  I  never 
see  angels  now  but  I  think  of  Mr.  Barn- 
aby's  moustache.  Now,  come  along,  do  ; 
you  mustn't  stand  there  talking  all  day." 
So  she  seized  the  listening  maiden  by 
the  arm  and  drove  her  to  the  kitchen, 
where  she  rated  her  well  for  her  idleness 
and  instructed  her  further  in  the  follies 
of  mankind. 


Heroes,  Sorrow  and  a  Horse*  in 

Meanwhile,  Edward  came  home,  strok- 
ing his  shorn  chin,  a  handsome  feature, 
and  whistling  the  tune  of 

"  What  is  love  ?  'tis  not  hereafter  : 
Present  mirth  hath  present  laughter  ; 

What's  to  come  is  still  unsure. 
In  delay  there  lies  no  plenty. 
Then  come  kiss  me,  sweet-and-twenty, 

Youth's  a  stuff  will  not  endure  ! " 

He  had  been  for  a  swim  in  the  river, 
and  was  trembling  pleasantly  from  the 
exercise,  or  at  the  anticipation  of  seeing 
a  shirt  ironed  to  his  taste.  He  bounded 
up  the  narrow  staircase,  burst  into  his 
bedroom,  and  lo !  there  were  the  linen 
garments,  as  he  had  hoped  to  find  them, 
spread  out. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  cried,  choosing  at  a  glance 
the  one  which  had  the  bravest  show  of 
pink  paper,  "  at  last,  a  decent  collar — and 
cuffs  one  can  show.  Who  would  grudge 
eightpence  for  a  polish  like  this?" 

He    whistled   four  merry  airs  while  he 


ii2  The  Herb-Moon. 

dressed,  but  he  was  silent  for  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  while  he  chose  and 
arranged  his  necktie.  His  trousers,  his 
coat,  and  waistcoat  were  of  dark-blue 
serge,  he  had  a  new  straw  hat  and  his 
hair  had  been  cut  that  morning. 

"La,  sir!  "  said  Susan,  running  out  of 
the  larder  as  he  descended  the  stairs, 
"  they  won't  know  you  !  And  does  the 
shirt  answer?"  she  added,  in  a  wheedling 
tone. 

"You  see,"  said  he,  not  wishing  to 
hurt  her  feelings,  "  they  have  every  sort 
of  machine  at  the  steam  laundry." 

"  Fancy  that ! "  said  she,  "  and  yet  my 
work's  the  best !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  he,  ob- 
serving a  droll  reflection  of  himself  in  a 
metal  dish-cover  which  hung  on  the 
kitchen  wall. 

"That's  one  as  I  washed  that  you're 
wearing  now,  sir,"  said  she,  gravely,  with 
a  long  side  wink  at  the  chair  in  which  her 


Heroes,  Sorrow  and  a  Horse  113 

husband  usually  sat.  "  I  am  glad  you 
are  pleased  with  it,"  she  continued  ;  "  but 
you  do  look  hot !  The  fire  does  catch 
one  at  this  time  of  the  year.  I've  ordered 
in  a  bushel  of  that  pink  paper — it's  as 
cheap  as  dirt,  and  gentry  is  always  fond 
of  it.  I  once  knew  a  lady  who  wouldn't 
touch  a  morsel  of  hog's-flesh  unless  you 
called  it  ham  and  dinked  it  round  with  a 
frill ! " 

Edward  struck  the  door  with  his  walk- 
ing-stick and  wiped  his  brow. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  is  Adam  so  long 
With  that  pony  ?  " 

Arabella,  the  pony,  was  very  old,  and 
looked  as  though  she  were  made  of 
wicker-work  covered  with  horse-hide. 
When  they  tightened  her  girths  all  her 
skin  would  wrinkle  and  her  bones,  like 
osiers,  would  creak  and  bend.  Yet  she 
could  canter  up  a  hill  with  the  best  and 
trot  almost  as  evenly  as  a  young  mule. 
Adam  now  led  her  forth — with  a  scarlet 


ii4  The  Herb-Moon. 

rose  under  each  ear — from  the  stable,  and 
Susan  ran  to  drag  the  cart  from  its  shed. 
When  all  was  prepared,  the  organist 
climbed  into  the  vehicle,  and  Georgiana, 
the  little  maid,  packed  his  rug,  his  mack- 
intosh, and  a  basket  to  be  filled  at  the 
grocer's,  into  the  box  behind.  Then 
Edward  took  the  whip  and  the  moist 
reins  and  touched  Arabella  on  the  head. 

"  Mind  her  new  rosette,"  said  Susan,  as 
she  opened  the  yard  gate. 

Then,  at  the  familiar  sound  of  the 
lifted  latch,  Arabella  struck  the  attitude 
of  speed,  and  trotted  slowly  down  the 
road  through  the  meadow,  with  her  load 
and  the  young  man. 

Now  when  they  were  come  within 
sight  of  the  great  iron  gate  of  "  Ran- 
dalls," Edward  halted  at  "  The  Bear  and 
Breeches,"  renowned  for  its  bad  ale — an 
inn  at  which  Arabella  had  never  once  in 
her  life  so  much  as  paused  at.  Here, 
however,   he    left   the    indignant  animal, 


Heroes,  Sorrow  and  a  Horse*  1 15 

who  was  led  into  a  yard,  unharnessed  by 
a  drowsy  ostler,  and  put  to  rest  in  a 
stall,  near  a  litter  of  mongrel  puppies, 
and  usually  occupied,  as  was  evident  by 
the  aroma  and  some  scattered  fur,  by  a 
gray  donkey.  Then  Edward  took  his 
mackintosh  from  the  cart,  and,  promis- 
ing to  return  for  Arabella  before  sunset, 
he  went  out  again  on  the  high-road  to- 
ward "  Randalls."  And  when  he  reached 
the  entrance,  the  gates  already  stood 
open,  for  a  carriage,  full  of  young  ladies 
with  flowery  hats,  was  passing  through, 
while  the  lodge-keeper  touched  his  cap, 
and  his  wife  bade  her  five  children — who 
were  staring  as  still  as  sunflowers  in  a 
row — keep  quiet.  Edward  lingered  a 
little  lest  the  dust  sent  flying  by  the 
wheels  should  soil  his  coat,  but  he  bowed 
to  the  damsels,  who,  in  return,  smiled 
from  under  their  veils,  and  they  won- 
dered among  themselves  who  he  could 
be,  whether  he  was  some  squire's  son  or 


n6  The  Herb-Moon. 

an  officer  from  the  barracks  at  Lauder- 
ston — he  looked  so  new  and  strange  with- 
out his  beard. 

When  he  came  to  the  archway  before 
the  house,  he  rested  a  moment  and  sur- 
veyed the  bronze  dragons  on  either  side, 
who  sat,  each  with  an  uplifted  paw, 
keeping  guard  over  the  coat  of  arms,  the 
drawn  sword,  the  shield  and  plumed  hel- 
met, which  belonged  to  Mr.  Crecy,  the 
brewer.  The  mansion  was  built  of  white 
stone,  and  there  were  glass  windows  to 
the  wide  door — that  one  might  see  the 
marble  hall  within,  where  a  fountain 
played,  and  statues  of  nymphs  from  Italy 
stood  on  pedestals  and  vasty  pictures 
from  the  Royal  Academy  adorned  the 
staircase.  No  garden  was  in  sight,  but 
only  high  walls  topped  with  spikes,  which 
ran  from  the  archway  to  the  facade, 
forming  a  square  courtyard.  Edward 
sighed  heavily  as  he  now  advanced  to 
pull   the   brass  bell,  and   he  thought   of 


Heroes,  Sorrow  and  a  Horse*  117 

the  ever-open  door  at  the  farm,  and  of 
the  watchful  geese  who  were  all  that  was 
needed  to  defend  its  threshold  from 
intruders. 

A  footman  in  a  brown  and  yellow  liv- 
ery answered  his  summons,  and  a  butler, 
pale  and  pompous,  conducted  him 
through  the  conservatory  on  to  the  lawn, 
where  sat  Miss  Crecy  and  her  mother, 
and  the  young  ladies  with  the  flowery 
hats  and  several  young  gentlemen  in 
white  flannel,  drinking  tea  and  feeding 
fat  dogs,  who  were  not  hungry,  with 
plum-cake.  Then  Edward  considered 
whether  he  should  take  to  his  heels  and 
so  make  an  end  of  all  ceremony,  or  be 
well-mannered  and  show  a  sad  counte- 
nance like  the  seemly  young  men  in 
white  flannel.  But  as  he  turned  these 
thoughts  within  his  mind,  he  caught  his 
foot  in  a  croquet  hoop,  and  he  took  this 
as  a  sign  from  the  angels  that  he  should 
stay.     So  he  lifted  his  eyes  valiantly  and 


n8  The  Herb-Moon. 

straightway  met  those  of  Miss  Crecy — 
which  were  as  calm  and  blue  as  sap- 
phires, but  more  admiring. 

"  How  wonderful !  "  thought  he,  "  for, 
although  I  tripped  over  the  hoop  and 
must  have  looked  an  ass,  I  no  longer  feel 
that  I  was  foolish  to  have  come  here. 
Yet  my  heart  is  spinning  in  my  side  and 
my  knees  are  bending  under  me." 

Miss  Crecy's  locks  were  tawny  and  her 
cheeks  had  the  pink  of  apple  blossoms. 
Her  nose  was  as  straight  and  her  chin 
was  as  pointed  and  her  hair  as  beauti- 
fully smooth  as  a  bride's  in  a  fashion 
book,  and  Edward  thought  that  he  had 
never  beheld  so  wifely  a  person,  although 
they  had  met  many  times  before  that 
day.  But  the  whole  world  had  looked 
different  to  him  since  the  shaving-off  of 
his  beard. 

When  Miss  Crecy's  hand  touched  his 
in  greeting,  he  became  happier  yet,  and 
followed  her  with  a  glad  spirit    even  to 


Heroes,  Sorrow  and  a  Horse.  1 19 

her  mother's  chair.  That  lady,  remem- 
bering he  was  but  an  organist,  smiled 
upon  him  cautiously,  and  begged  him  to 
take  a  seat  between  the  curate's  wife  and 
her  aged  aunt.  So  he  sat  down  as  he 
was  told,  and  silence  fell  upon  them  all, 
till  one  young  girl  who  was  engaged  to 
be  married,  and  who  was  therefore  more 
daring  than  the  rest,  knew  him  by  his 
eyebrows  and  his  white  hands. 

"  La!  "  said  she,  "'tis  Mr.  Banish  !  I 
couldn't  make  him  out !  " 

At  this  the  whole  party  burst  out 
laughing,  and,  under  cover  of  the  general 
merriment,  every  couple  found  an  oppor- 
tunity to  stroll  away,  some  toward  the 
bowling-ground,  and  others  among  the 
trees  and  flower-beds.  Edward,  who  was 
no  laggard,  seized  his  chance  and  Miss 
Crecy's  croquet  mallet. 

"  Shall  we  play?  "  said  he. 

The  maiden  was  too  courteous  to  re- 
fuse  such   an    invitation    from   her   own 


120  The  Herb-Moon. 

guest.  They  crossed  the  lawn  together 
and  achieved  two  games,  neither  decisive, 
for  both  combatants  were  unwilling  either 
to  win  or  lose,  so  perfect  was  their  match 
in  good-humor  and  prowess. 

Yet,  after  a  little,  Edward  looked  at 
the  leafy  woods  hard  by  which  led  to  the 
apple  orchard,  and  he  thought  how  pleas- 
ant it  would  be  to  go  there,  farther  than 
the  eyes  of  the  curate's  wife  and  Miss 
Crecy's  admirable  mother  could  reach. 
So  he  spoke  cunning  words  about  the 
heat  of  the  day ;  but  Miss  Crecy  knew 
all,  and  she  dropped  her  mallet,  saying: 

"  I  see  my  cousin  beckoning  from  the 
arbor.     Shall  we  join  them?" 

Therefore  they  went  that  way,  till,  as 
they  drew  near  their  destination,  Edward 
saw,  at  a  long  distance  down  a  side-path, 
some  mushrooms  growing  in  a  ring — as 
though,  as  the  story  goes,  fairies  had 
danced  there.  Whereupon  he  suggested 
that  they  should  examine  the  rare  spot — 


Heroes,  Sorrow  and  a  Horse.  121 

to  which  his  fair  companion  sweetly 
agreed.  The  expedition  produced  a  very 
pretty  conversation  about  elves  and 
witchcraft  and  old  country  tales  of  love 
and  omens. 

"  Yet  there  are  people  who  declare," 
exclaimed  the  maiden,  "  that  these  things 
are  past,  and  many  more  doubt  that  they 
ever  were  at  any  time.  If  one  could  be 
frank  in  this  life,  I  daresay  we  could  all 
tell  a  story  as  strange  and  romantic  as 
any  you  read  of  in  books." 

This  she  said  in  her  wile  to  find  out 
whether  he  had  a  secret  grief.  But 
Edward  was  ashamed  to  own  that  he  had 
for  his  part  no  romantic  experience  to 
boast  of,  so  he  just  sighed  as  though  his 
heart  would  break  and  looked  more 
sorrowful  than  a  weeping  willow. 

"  I  know,"  said  he,  "  a  story  which 
ended  before  it  began." 

"  There  was  never  such  a  story  in  this 
world,"  said  she. 


122  The  Herb-Moon* 

"  Dear  lady,"  said  he,  "  you  must  take 
my  word  for  it." 

"  There  is  a  way  out  of  every  diffi- 
culty," said  she. 

"  Aye,"  said  he,  "  into  a  fresh  one  ! " 

"  I  find  a  certain  hopelessness,"  said 
she,  "  in  your  philosophy." 

"  I  never  take  up  arms  against  the 
truth,"  said  he. 

"What  is  truth,"  said  she,  "but  a 
thing  we  ourselves  make  out  of  hear- 
says? " 

"  I  could  wish  it  were  no  more,"  said 
he. 

"  Then  tell  me  the  story,"  said  she,  "  I 
should  understand " 

"  Quite  well,"  said  he.  "  You  have  a 
heart." 

"  More  head,"  said  she,  with  a  gasp, 
"  more  head,  I  assure  you  !  " 

She  paled  :  she  reddened. 

"A  woman's  kindness,"  said  he,  "and 
a  man's  deliberation  !  " 


Heroes,  Sorrow  and  a  Horse.  123 

"  I  often  regret  my  excessive  calm- 
ness," said  she,  trembling  from  head  to 
foot.     "  It  might,  to  some,  look  selfish." 

"  Never — to  me,"  said  he.  "  I  think  it 
queenly  !  " 

"  You  use  such  words !  " 

"  I  think  aloud." 

"  A  dangerous  habit." 

"  Not  when  I  am  with — a  friend  !  "  and 
he  heaved  another  great  sigh. 

"  I,  too,"  said  she,  not  to  be  outdone, 
"  I,  too,  have  had  trouble!  " 

"  You  ?  " 

"  Your  story  first !  " 

"  You  make  me  forget  it !  "  And  as 
he  made  this  answer,  he  inly  laughed,  for 
he  had  no  story  to  tell. 

"  I  make  you  forget  it  ? "  she  said. 
"  How  is  that  ?  " 

"  I  find  it  so  much  harder  to  bear  your 
grief  than  my  own.  I  pictured  you  al- 
ways happy  !  '* 

"  I  do  not  complain." 


124  The  Herb-Moon. 

"  Because  you  are  majestic ! " 

"  I  am  awake  for  hours  at  night,"  said 
she.     "  I  cry.     Would  you  believe  it  ?  " 

"  From  your  eyes — no  !  " 

"  Ah,"  said  she,  "  one  can  cry  without 
tears." 

"  True,  "said  he,  "  all  things  have  a  res- 
urrection except  the  emotions.  They 
are  born — they  die — they  never  return. 
A  happiness  or  a  despair  once  gone  is  a 
phantom  for  ever." 

"  My  friend,"  said  she,  "  we  soon  grow 
accustomed  to  solitude  of  soul,  and,  after 
all,  there  is  a  dignity  in  solitariness ! 
Sympathy  makes  one  cling  to  life:  isola- 
tion exalts  us  to  the  sublime  ! " 

At  this  point  one  or  both  of  them 
stumbled  over  a  fallen  bird's  nest,  and 
their  shoulders  touched.  Whereupon 
Edward  stooped  to  pick  up  the  cause  of 
that  pleasing  accident.  And  he  found 
three  newly-fledged  starlings  in  the  nest 
— two   dead,   but   one  still  living.     And 


Heroes,  Sorrow  and  a  Horse.  125 

the  girl,  pale  with  pity,  took  it  from  him, 
and  wrapt  it  about  with  her  soft  handker- 
chief, and  placed  it,  without  prudery  or 
ado,  in  her  breast — an  act  which  seemed 
to  the  young  man  so  tender  and  so 
gracious  that  he  could  no  longer  deceive 
her  kindness  by  a  false  woe. 

"  If  I  have  ever  felt  unhappy,"  said  he, 
"  my  selfishness — not  my  fate — has  been 
at  fault.  There  has  been  no  romance  in 
my  past,  and  I  have  never  seen  but  one 
woman  I  could  love." 

"  Then  to  be  honest,"  said  she,  get- 
ting red,  "  I  was  never  once  awake  all 
night  in  my  life,  and  as  for  love  or  sor- 
row, I  know  nothing  of  either !  " 

At  this  they  laughed,  but,  by  and  by, 
sighed. 

"  And  have  you  never  met  any  one — " 
said  he. 

"  How  could  I  tell  till  he  asked  me?  " 
said  she. 

"  I  am  asking,"  he  said. 


126  The  Herb-Moon* 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  you 
must  give  one  time.  On  so  short  an 
acquaintance,  too!  What  would  you 
think  of  me  if  I  said  yes?  Not  that  I 
could.  For  how  should  I  know  one  way 
or  the  other  ?  Yet  I  can  well  believe  in 
love  at  first  sight." 

"  It  is  then  or  never,"  cried  Edward. 
"  One  look  is  enough  !  " 

So  she  looked  at  him,  and  in  a  honeyed 
silence  they  retraced  their  steps,  which 
now  seemed  strewn  with  sweet  remem- 
brances of  their  wonderful  journey. 

Meanwhile,  Robsart  had  returned  home 
from  the  factory,  and  as  he  found  the 
sitting-room  desolate  because  Rose  was 
not  there,  he  went  into  the  kitchen. 
Then  Susan  told  him  of  her  trick  with 
the  shirt,  and  of  Arabella's  new  rosettes, 
and  how  Edward  had  left  in  such  haste 
that  he  forgot  to  say  at  what  time  he 
would  like  his  supper.  But  Robsart's 
heart  was  dull,  and  he  soon  walked  out  on 


Heroes,  Sorrow  and  a  Horse.  127 

to  the  road,  where  now,  at  every  cottage 
gate,  a  girl  or  an  old  woman  stood  watch- 
ing for  the  postman.  Some,  as  he  passed, 
looked  away  from  him  sadly,  and  some 
pretended  not  to  heed  him,  and  a  few 
blushed  red  with  pride  to  find  that  they 
had  not  been  forgotten.  Robsart  fol- 
lowed the  man  at  a  little  distance,  and 
when  he  saw  him  making  for  the  farm- 
house, he  feared  to  stop  him  lest  he 
should  hear  too  soon  that  the  letter  was 
not  for  himself.  So  he  loitered  by  the 
hedges,  watching  the  grasshoppers  and 
the  butterflies  and  the  spiders'  webs. 
And  presently  he  beheld  a  pony  in  the 
distance,  walking  slowly,  with  neither  a 
rider  nor  a  harness,  and,  by  her  knock- 
knees  and  shape,  he  knew  her  to  be  Ara- 
bella. At  the  sight  of  him  she  whinnied, 
and,  as  he  ran  to  meet  her,  her  eyes  held 
a  rage  he  could  not  fathom. 

"Arabella,"  said  he,  in  deadly  terror, 
"  where  is  Edward  ?  " 


128  The  Herb-Moon. 

She  tossed  her  head,  and  feigned  to 
look  at  some  crows  who  were  feeding  in 
a  meadow  close  at  hand. 

"You  must  turn  back  with  me  and 
find  him,"  said  Robsart. 

But  at  this  she  lay  down  flat  on  the 
road  till  her  very  eyelashes  touched  the 
dust. 

"  You  are  a  wicked  girl !  "  said  he. 

As  she  had  been  old  now  for  many 
years,  this  flattered  her  vanity,  and  after 
a  seeming  resistance,  she  relented,  rose 
up,  and  suffered  him  to  lead  her  back 
towards  East  Ottley  and  "  The  Bear  and 
Breeches." 

Robsart  looked  anxiously  about  him 
as  he  went,  hoping  yet  dreading  to  find 
some  trace  of  Edward  and  the  missing 
cart,  but  they  saw  neither  chick  nor  man 
till  they  reached  the  cross-roads,  where  a 
recruiting  sergeant — none  other,  in  fact, 
than  the  one  who  had  helped  Rose  into 
the  train — appeared  to    be  studying  the 


Heroes,  Sorrow  and  a  Horse.  129 

mile-post,  as  though  he  could  not  decide 
which  direction  to  take.  But  in  reality 
he  had  his  mind  on  Robsart,  for  his 
height  and  his  build  were  soldierly,  and 
he  thought  it  a  shame  that  such  a  fine 
figure  of  a  man  should  be  leading  old 
ponies  through  empty  lanes. 

"  Have  you,  by  any  chance,"  said 
Robsart,  as  he  came  up,  "  seen  a  trap  by 
the  wayside  ?  or  have  you  met  a  young 
man  in  a  blue  serge  suit,  good  looking 
and  quick  walker,  coming  from  East 
Ottley?" 

"  No,"  said  the  sergeant,  "  but  I  am 
bound  there  now,  and,  as  I  am  a  stranger 
in  these  parts,  I  should  be  glad  of  your 
company.  That's  been  a  pretty  animal 
in  her  day,"  added  he,  patting  Arabella 
on  the  neck  ;  "  not  a  bit  of  vice  about 
her,  I  can  see,  and  it  wouldn't  surprise 
me  to  hear  that  she  had  carried  many  an 
officer  at  polo.  Our  colonel  has  a  pony 
that  couldn't    touch   her — as    she    may 


i3°  The  Herb-Moon* 

have  been  once,  so  to  speak — and  he 
wouldn't  sell  her  for  eighty  pound." 

"  This  is  really  very  odd,"  replied  Rob- 
sart,  "  for,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  this  pony 
belonged  to  my  mother's  brother  who  is 
a  captain  in  the  2 1st  Hussars.  He  is 
now  in  India,  but  he  was — and  may  be 
still — a  famous  polo  player." 

"  I  knew  I  couldn't  be  mistaken,  sir," 
said  the  sergeant,  who  was  nevertheless 
greatly  astonished.  "  Style  is  style,  and 
although  I  say  it  myself,  nothing  comes 
up  to  the  army  for  putting  men  and 
beasts  into  the  right  trim.  God  bless 
me  !  I've  seen  many  young  fellers  with 
no  more  pluck  nor  manliness  than  so 
many  tins  of  meat,  who,  inside  a  twelve- 
month, have  turned  out  downright 
credits !  I  can  tell  you,  sir,  that  going 
about  the  country  as  I  do,  I  see  enough 
to  make  any  sensible  man  heave  his  heart 
up.  What  sort  of  life  do  these  young 
fellers   lead?     Twiddling   on    the  banjo, 


Heroes,  Sorrow  and  a  Horse.  13 l 

singing  like  professionals,  reading  tommy- 
rot  in  the  newspapers,  sitting  about  the 
house  like  a  parcel  of  old  women  ?  If 
they  take  part  in  some  fiddling  cricket- 
match,  you  might  think,  to  hear  'em  talk, 
that  they  were  Ajaxes  and  Achillums ! 
If  they  play  croquet  with  a  couple  of 
gals,  they  are  ready  to  drink  the  sea  dry 
for  thirst.  Wet  feet  will  send  'em  to  bed 
for  a  fortnight,  and  after  a  day  on  their 
legs  they  are  ready  to  drop !  Then  some 
of  'em  fall  in  love  every  new  moon,  and 
instead  of  saying  to  the  gal,  '  Stay  here, 
my  dear,  till  I  have  knocked  about  a  bit 
and  can  keep  a  home  together '  ;  they 
court  first  this  one  and  then  that  one — 
worse  than  an  old  gander  my  mother  once 
had,  as  could  never  make  up  his  mind. 
He  was  a  rum  character — that  ;  one  in 
ten  thousand  I  should  say — for  a  gander 
will  stop  true  to  one  mate  all  his  life. 
I  could  tell  you  a  tale  about  a  gander  as 
would  put  many  a  man  to  the  blush." 


132  The  Herb-Moon. 

"  Pray  tell  it,"  said  Robsart. 

"  Well,"  said  the  sergeant,  "  he  was  a 
fine  handsome  bird  with  a  nasty  temper, 
and  my  mother,  being  a  careful  woman, 
gave  him  four  geese.  One  was  a  sweet 
pretty  creature,  all  white  and  with  them 
feathers  which  curl.  But  he  wouldn't  be 
even  civil  to  her.  Another  was  plain 
white,  without  much  show,  yet  a  young 
brisk  thing,  bright  in  the  eye  and  all  that. 
Do  you  think  he  even  noticed  her?  Not 
he  !  I've  seen  that  poor  thing  with  her 
feelings  so  hurt  that  she  could  scarcely 
eat.  And  another  was  gray  and  white, 
rather  lanky,  but  what  one  might  call 
elegant.  I've  known  him  to  talk  to  her 
— but  that's  all.  The  one  he  liked  was  a 
common  gray  goose,  small  and  meek, 
with  a  nice  sort  of  face,  yet  nothing  won- 
derful. And  he  couldn't  bear  her  out  of 
his  sight.  He  would  peck  at  all  the 
others  to  keep  'em  from  feeding  while 
she   picked   out   the   bits   to  her   fancy. 


Heroes,  Sorrow  and  a  Horse*  133 

And  just  because  the  white  one  with 
curled  feathers  was  prettier  than  she 
was,  he  treated  her  with  cruel  spite — 
just  out  of  loyalty,  as  you  may  say,  and 
for  fear  his  favorite  should  be  jealous  ! 
So  my  mother  had  no  choice  but  to  kill 
the  little  gray  goose — for,  said  she,  who 
could  afford  to  encourage  such  nonsense? 
Women  are  very  heartless  toward  females. 
And  when  that  gander  saw  his  mate 
hanging  up  in  the  larder,  all  plucked  for 
selling,  he  walked  off  to  the  pond  and  he 
ducked  his  head  I  don't  know  how  many 
times ;  and  when  he  came  ashore  about 
sunset,  he  had  all  gone  to  nothing.  And 
he  used  to  stand  for  hours  under  the 
tree  watching  the  gate  she  used  to  sit  by. 
Then  the  three  geese  would  try  to  cheer 
him  up,  and  he  hadn't  the  heart  left  to 
chase  them  away ;  but  they  never  got  a 
smile  from  him.  We  waited  a  month, 
and  his  temper  grew  worse  and  worse. 
He  was  always  watching  the  gate    and 


134  The  Herb-Moon. 

hissing  at  all  petticoats,  even  those  hung 
out  to  dry.  So  at  last  my  mother  had 
to  kill  him  too,  and  she  bought  another 
gander.  That's  a  true  story,  and  a  dozen 
could  swear  to  it." 

"  I  can  well  believe  it,"  said  Robsart, 
"  for  I  live  on  a  farm." 

"Indeed,"  said  the  sergeant;  "do  you 
think  of  settling  down  in  that  line  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Robsart,  "  my  work  is 
in  the  factory.  I  am  a  book-keeper.  But 
finish  what  you  were  telling  me  about 
the  men  you  see.  I  have  often  thought 
myself  that  long  courtships  and  coun- 
try amusements  were  very  unsatisfac- 
tory." 

"  Unsatisfactory  is  not  the  word,"  said 
the  sergeant,  "  ruination  is  nearer  !  Why, 
if  a  man  can't  tell  the  very  moment  he 
claps  his  eye  on  a  woman  whether  she 
suits  him,  I  wouldn't  give  much  for  his 
backbone.  And  if  he  will  put  up  with 
any  makeshift  instead  of  her,  he's  a  poor 


Heroes,  Sorrow  and  a  Horse.  135 

stick.  Mind  you !  I  am  speaking  of 
marriage.  A  bit  of  a  lark  now  and  again 
is  another  thing  and  all  very  well  in  its 
way,  but  your  wife  is  your  wife  wherever 
you  go,  whether  you  sling  her  on  your 
arm  or  whether  you  leave  her  at  home — 
she's  bone  of  your  bone  ;  and  if  she's  the 
right  sort,  you  can't  go  very  far  wrong,  I'm 
blowed  if  you  can.  And  I've  watched 
many  married  men  in  my  time.  It's 
the  men  that  have  to  fight  who  think  the 
most  of  their  families,  and  it's  the  men 
that  go  away  that  the  women  is  most 
pleased  to  see  come  back.  If  I  had  my 
way  every  man  should  serve  his  term  in 
the  army.  It  stands  to  reason  that  we 
cannot  all  be  soldiers,  for  some  must 
watch  the  land,  and  some  must  be  schol- 
ars, and  some  must  keep  shops,  and 
some,  on  account  of  the  women,  must  be 
doctors  and  parsons.  There  are  many 
callings,  as  we  all  know;  but  for  a  young, 
strong  feller  with  no  ties  and  no  especial 


136  The  Herb-Moon. 

duties  as  a  civilian — well,  I  leave  it  to 
you  to  say  what  he  ought  to  do." 

Now  the  sergeant  was  a  guileful  soul, 
and,  in  telling  the  gander's  story,  he 
had  learned — what  he  already  suspected — 
from  Robsart's  countenance,  that  he  had 
just  such  another  bird  walking  by  his 
side. 

"  Lor'  bless  yer  soul,"  said  he,  "  if 
you've  got  anything  on  your  mind — (I 
know  what  it  is — I  myself  have  been — well 
there,  fit  to  blooming  well  hang  myself) 
— a  barracks  is  just  the  place  for  you. 
You  get  taken  out  of  yourself  in  no  time. 
It  is  not  an  easy  life,  of  course — what's 
the  good  of  telling  lies  ? — but  young 
'  chaps  are  all  the  better  for  a  bit  of  hard- 
ship. And  you  get  an  idea  of  life — you 
see  a  thing  or  two — and  if  you  have 
trouble  you  are  soon  taught  how  to  bear 
it ;  and  if  pleasure  comes,  you  soon 
learn  how  to  enjoy  yourself  without 
playing  the  fool." 


Heroes,  Sorrow  and  a  Horse*  137 

And  then  he  began  to  tell  of  his  adven- 
tures in  the  East,  and  all  that  he  saw  and 
all  that  he  suffered,  and  how  he  fought 
the  Sikhs  at  Goojat  and  how  he  was 
quite  ready  to  fight  them  all  over  again 
to-morrow. 

"  The  first  time  I  was  in  action,"  said 
he,  "  I  was  little  more  than  a  drummer- 
boy.  When  the  rumpus  began,  we  didn't 
feel  so  bad,  but  presently  I  saw  a  High- 
lander shot  through  the  heart,  and  then 
I  knew  what  I  was  in  for.  Just  to  tell 
you  what  men  are,  there  was  one  feller 
there  who  wanted  to  run  away ;  and  the 
captain,  who  was  beginning  to  look  queer 
himself,  pulled  up  at  that,  as  bold  as  a 
lion.  '  If  you  stir,'  says  he,  '  I'll  shoot 
you ! '  And  that  very  chap  as  wanted  to 
desert  started  in  as  if  he  was  half  mad, 
and  got  rewarded  for  distinguished  ser- 
vice. Fight !  he  fought  like  a  demon. 
He  struck  out  six  ways  for  Sunday.  He 
gave  'em  a  treat,  and  no  mistake  about 


i38  The  Herb-Moon. 

it !  We  are  never  hard  on  Nature  in  the 
army :  we  expect  men  to  be  human. 
Every  one  is  timid  at  first :  and  them  as 
pretends  to  be  so  used  to  it  all,  as  it 
were,  is  the  biggest  cowards  of  the  lot !  " 

Robsart,  as  he  listened,  felt  his  heart 
stir  within  him,  for  he  was  getting  very 
weary  of  his  desk  at  the  cotton  works. 

"  Now,  if  I  was  a  young  man  and  had 
my  time  over  again,"  continued  the  ser- 
geant, "  I  should  go  into  the  Lancers. 
You  get  two  good  horses,  as  handsome  a 
uniform  as  any  one  could  wish,  and 
board  and  lodging  fit  for  a  king !  It's 
life — that's  what  it  is !  And  advance- 
ment is  wonderful  quick — one  way  and 
another.  You've  just  got  to  obey  orders, 
and  there  you  are  !  No  responsibility 
and  nothing  to  worry  about.  And  to  see 
the  Lancers  coming  down  a  road,  full 
trot,  is  the  prettiest  sight  in  the  world : 
the  gals  lean  half  a  mile  out  of  their  win- 
dows  to   look  at  'em  !     There  was   one 


Heroes,  Sorrow  and  a  Horse*  139 

young  gentleman  as  took  my  advice,  and, 
without  giving  names,  I  may  say  he  will 
soon  get  his  majority  !  He  was — as  you 
might  be — a  gentleman  born ;  but  he 
was  down  on  his  luck  and  working  for  his 
living.  Between  you  and  me,  he  was 
looking  rather  lovin'  at  his  razors  of  a 
morning.  And  one  day  we  happened  to 
cross  over  to  Portsmouth  together,  and, 
if  you  please,  I  saw  him  hanging  over  the 
the  ship's  side,  with  a  precious  queer  pair 
of  eyes  in  his  head.  '  Now  then,'  says  I, 
'  buck  up ! '  And  he  bust  out  crying  like 
a  child — fit  to  break  his  heart ;  yet  that 
young  blubberer  is  now  one  of  the  gen- 
eral's A.D.C.'s,  and  as  plucky  a  chap  as 
you'd  find  in  the  whole  army.  But  blub- 
bering proves  nothing.  It's  only  human 
nature." 

At  this  moment,  Edward,  swinging  his 
racquet,  and  staring  up  at  the  sky,  ap- 
peared in  sight. 

"Thank  God!"  said   Robsart,  "  for   I 


i4°  The  Herb-Moon* 

didn't  know  what  to  think.  Where's  the 
cart?" 

"  The  cart,"  said  Edward,  "  is  at  '  The 
Bear  and  Breeches.'  That  beastly  ani- 
mal," he  added,  with  a  look  at  Arabella, 
"  must  have  walked  out  of  the  stables 
while  the  ostler  was  asleep.  He  told  me 
that  the  airs  she  gave  herself  were  past  all 
bearing.  But  let  us  go  back  for  the  trap 
and  drive  home  together." 

He  did  not  wonder  to  see  Robsart  walk- 
ing with  a  stranger,  for,  in  those  lonely- 
parts,  one  was  always  glad  of  a  comrade. 

So  Edward  joined  the  clerk  and  the 
sergeant,  and  the  three,  with  the  pony, 
marched  on  to  East  Ottley.  Edward, 
however,  seemed  in  no  mood  to  talk  or  to 
listen,  and  he  still  stared  at  the  sky,  even 
while  the  sergeant  told  stories  of  heroism 
and  adventure.  But  Robsart  was  full  of 
thought,  and  when  they  at  last  reached 
the  inn,  he  called  the  sergeant  aside. 

"Give  me  the  shilling,"  said  he;  for  it 


Heroes,  Sorrow  and  a  Horse*  141 

was  at  a  time  when  they  still  gave  the 
Queen's  shilling  to  recruits." 

"  Right  you  are  !  "  said  the  sergeant, 
with  a  heavy  oath,  "You  are  the  man 
for  my  money  !  " 


CHAPTER  X. 

In  which  Susan  has  Cause  to  Remember 
Rose  Arden. 

ABOUT  this  hour,  Susan  was  standing 
at  the  door  of  the  farm,  watching  for  Ed- 
ward and  Robsart.  The  stars  were  now 
coming  out,  the  fowls  had  gone  to  roost, 
and  it  was  long  past  supper  time. 

"  I  feel  sad-like,"  said  she  to  Georgiana, 
who  stood  by  her  side,  "  for  I  saw  the 
new  moon  through  glass,  and  when  I  do 
that  I  always  hear  a  bit  of  bad  news." 

"And  I,"  said  Georgiana,  "dreamt 
last  night  of  a  white  horse,  and  there's 
no  sign  worse  than  that." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  do,"  said  Susan. 
"  I  haven't  patience  with  such  foolery. 
And,   well    I    never!     here    comes    old 


Susan  Remembers  Rose  Ardeiu  143 

Mother  Venus.  What  ever  does  she 
want  now  ?  creeping  along  the  road  as  if 
she  was  looking  out  for  a  Moses  or  an 
Aaron !  She  might  bide  at  home  in  the 
evening  at  her  time  of  life." 

"  La !  "  said  Georgiana,  beginning  to 
weep,  for  she  was  watery-hearted,  "  she's 
croi-ing  (crying),  poor  soul,  that's  what 
she's  doing.  What's  she  croi-ing  vur,  I 
wonder?  And  she  looks  the  breathing 
image  of  my  old  grandmother  as  lives  at 
Ottley  Major,  and  has  the  'sipelas.  Yet 
Mrs.  Venus  ain't  so  old  as  granny  by  a 
good  twenty  year." 

"How  are  you,  Mrs.  Venus?"  said 
Susan,  as  the  woman  approached  ;  "  none 
the  worse,  I  hope,  for  the  flies?  They 
are  something  cruel  this  year." 

"  Oh,  Susan,"  said  Mrs.  Venus,  with  a 
dreadful  sob,  "  I  don't  mind  nothing  now. 
My  Arthur's  been  and  'listed  !  " 

"  What !  "  said  Georgiana,  leaning 
against  the  door-post  and  turning  the 
color  of  lead. 


144  The  Herb-Moon. 

"  He's  been  and  'listed,"  said  Mrs. 
Venus.  "  The  sergeant  got  him  on  with 
drink  and  a  pack  of  lies,  and  he  took  the 
shilling  and  he's  done  for.  To  think  he 
should  have  come  as  low  as  that !  My 
Arthur  !  And  the  sergeant  took  him  off 
to  the  doctor's — my  Arthur  as  never  had 
a  day's  illness  in  his  life — to  see  whether 
he  was  fit  to  be  chopped  up  and  cut 
about  by  foreigners  and  the  blackies !  " 

And  she  threw  her  apron  over  her 
head  and  rocked  herself  to  and  fro.  But 
Georgiana  could  not  cry  now,  for  she 
loved  Arthur,  and  she  sat  huddled  up  on 
the  step,  seeing  nothing. 

"  That  sergeant  is  as  sly  as  a  fox," 
said  Susan;  "he  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
hisself  bringing  such  disgrace  into  a 
widow  woman's  family.  And  Arthur 
should  have  had  more  sense  than  to  listen 
to  him." 

"  It  ain't  in  my  Arthur,"  said  Mrs. 
Venus,  "  to  do  such  a  shameful  thing  of 


Susan  Remembers  Rose  Arderu  145 

his  own  free  will.  He  doesn't  see  the 
disgrace,  bless  you  !  he  talks  about  fight- 
ing for  his  country  as  if  he  was  some 
Dook  in  parliament !  It's  like  driving  off 
to  the  Union  in  a  wagonette  and  pair — 
that's  what  it  is.  Just  see  how  I've 
worked  and  scraped  to  'prentice  that 
boy  to  the  undertaking!  Mr.  Harden 
was  only  saying  the  other  day  that  he 
never  had  a  lad  with  such  a  knack  at 
lining  coffins.  He's  so  handy  with  his 
fingers-like.  It's  the  disappointment  I 
look  at,  for  I  was  hoping  to  see  him  set  up 
for  himself  later  on  and  take  care  of  me 
when  I  am  too  old  to  take  care  of  him. 
And  instead  of  that,  the  last  coffin  he 
lined  will  just  do  for  my  burial.  This 
is  my  death-blow,  and  no  mistake.  I 
sha'n't  hold  my  head  up  again.  If  his 
father  was  alive,  he'd  break  every  bone 
in  his  body — he  was  a  very  hasty  man 
was  my  poor  husband.  My  Arthur's 
been  and  'listed,"  she  said  again,  lifting 


146  The  Herb-Moon. 

up  her  voice  like  a  howling  dog ;  "  my 
Arthur's  been  and  'listed." 

"  Now  don't  take  on  like  that,  Mrs. 
Venus,"  said  Susan  ;  "  whatever  is  God's 
will  is  for  the  best,  as  my  poor  mother — 
now  dead  and  gone — used  to  say." 

"  Aye,"  replied  Mrs.  Venus,  "  and 
right  enough,  she  is  dead  and  gone  for 
all  her  wise  words,  and  whether  that's 
for  the  best,  the  worms  can  tell  better 
than  I  can !  God's  will  ain't  my  will — 
that's  all  I  know.  Oh,  Georgina,  you 
knew  my  poor  boy — you  used  to  walk 
out  with  him.  Ain't  it  heart-break- 
ing?" 

Georgiana  forced  her  handkerchief  into 
her  mouth  for  fear  she  would  weep  aloud, 
and  Mrs.  Venus  passed  on,  stumbling 
over  the  stones  as  she  went  and  shedding 
big  tears. 

"What's  the  use  of  giving  way?" 
said  Susan,  swallowing  her  pity ;  "  I've 
got  to  think  of  my  husband.     He  can't 


Susan  Remembers  Rose  Arden.  147 

bear  to  see  my  face  all  blubbered  with 
crying.  It  upsets  him  for  a  week.  But 
you  take  and  draw  a  jug  of  ale  and  carry 
it  into  Mrs.  Venus's  with  my  love.  And 
the  broth  as  I  made  to-day  might  warm 
her  up  a  bit.  Pour  some  of  it  in  the 
large  basin.  Upon  my  word,  you  can't 
stand  at  your  own  door  for  a  breath  of 
fresh  air  but  you  see  some  poor  creature 
in  trouble.  Look  sharp,  now,  and  keep 
your  wits  about  you.  What's  Arthur  to 
you,  I  should  like  to  know,  or  fifty  Ar- 
thurs? At  your  age,  I  never  thought  of 
the  men — I  wasn't  in  such  a  hurry  to 
make  myself  miserable,  I  wasn't.  Walk- 
ing out  with  Arthur  Venus  !  They're  a 
good-for-nothing  lot  those  Venuses — 
root  and  branch.  You  let  me  catch  you 
crying  about  him — that's  all.  I'm  thank- 
ful to  God  he's  been  and  'listed,  or  you 
would  have  been  in  a  pretty  trouble,  I'll 
warrant.  There's  more  love  than  mar- 
riage in  this  courting,  my  girl." 


148  The  Herb-Moon. 

So  Georgiana  went  softly  away  to  the 
cellar  and  drew  the  ale,  as  she  was  told, 
for  Mrs.  Venus.  But  her  body  fell 
against  the  wall  at  every  other  step,  and 
her  heart  felt  like  a  grindstone  at  her 
side. 

Susan  still  remained  at  the  threshold, 
looking  again  and  again  up  the  road  for 
Robsart  and  Edward,  till,  at  last,  she 
heard  wheels  on  the  long  meadow  road. 

"  Here  they  be,"  she  called  out  to 
Adam,  who  had  been  smoking  his  pipe 
in  the  kitchen,  "  but  Arabella  sounds  a 
bit  lame.  She's  getting  old  now  for 
these  sort  of  outings.  And  you  mark  my 
words,  Mr.  Edward  won't  tell  us  what  they 
had  for  tea  at  Miss  Crecy's  nor  nothing 
he  saw.  Talking  to  him  is  like  turning 
the  handle  of  a  locked  door — you  may 
turn  and  turn  but  you  get  nowhere !  " 

When  the  cart  came  in  sight,  Susan 
grew  as  pale  as  death,  for  there  was  the 
sergeant  sitting  on  the  back  seat. 


Susan  Remembers  Rose  Arden.  149 

"Adam,"  said  she,  in  a  quiet  voice, 
"  I've  got  a  feeling  that  Betty  and  her 
calf  ain't  comfortable.  Will  you  creep 
round  to  the  barn  and  bide  there  with 
her  till  I  come?  But  mind  you  stay  till 
I  come  and  close  the  door  well  after 
you — for  the  air  to-night  is  very  search- 
ing." 

Then,  when  Adam  had  gone,  she  went 
forth,  with  all  the  courage  of  a  tigress 
guarding  her  young,  to  meet  the  sergeant 
and  offer  him  a  glass  of  ale. 

"  Upon  my  heart  and  life,  Mr.  Edward," 
said  she,  "  I  thought  you  had  run  away 
with  Miss  Crecy.  And  there's  Mr.  Rob- 
sart  who  wouldn't  touch  a  morsel  with- 
out you.  Good-evening,  sergeant.  The 
world  ain't  treating  you  badly,  judging 
you  by  your  looks  !  " 

The  sergeant  saluted  her  politely  and 
showed  all  his  fine  white  teeth. 

"  I've  come  to  rob  you,  missis,"  said 
he,  "  of  one  of  your  young  gentlemen." 


150  The  Herb-Moon, 

"  I  want  none  of  your  larks !  "  said 
Susan,  losing  her  voice. 

"  It's  quite  true,  Susan,"  said  Robsart. 
"  I've  enlisted." 

The  woman  glanced  at  Edward,  who 
was  standing  with  his  lips  set  close  and 
his  eyes  swimming  in  tears. 

"  O  my  God !  "  said  she.  "  Poor  Mrs. 
Arden  ! " 

"  Look  alive ! "  growled  the  sergeant, 
"  look  alive  !  It's  all  for  his  own  good  ; 
there's  no  one  to  be  sorry  for,  and  there's 
no  bones  broken  !  " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Robsart,"  said  Susan,  in 
spite  of  him,  "  how  ever  could  you  ha' 
done  such  a  thing?" 

"  Because  he's  a  man,"  said  the  ser- 
geant ;  "  because  he's  sick  and  tired  of 
women's  mews  and  miaus ;  because  he's 
got  a  pair  of  arms  and  legs ;  because  he 
can  listen  to  common  sense  ;  because  he 
wasn't  born  to  set  down  '  ought  and  carry 
one  '  all  day  !  That's  why,  if  you  want  to 
know." 


Susan  Remembers  Rose  Arden.  151 

Susan  wiped  her  face  with  her  apron, 
and  began  to  unharness  Arabella. 

"  My  poor  gal,"  said  she,  "  this  is  the 
heaviest  load  as  you  ever  brought  to  my 
door." 

"Allow  me,  ma'am,"  said  the  sergeant, 
assisting  with  the  buckles,  while  his  sly 
pale  eyes  came  peeping  through  their  lids 
like  the  moon  between  clouds. 

Edward  went  into  the  house  and  Rob- 
sart  followed  him.  There  they  met 
Georgiana,  sobbing  in  the  passage,  with 
the  jug  of  ale  and  the  basin  of  broth  for 
Mrs.  Venus. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  cried  Georgiana,  "  have  you 
heard  the  dreadful  news?  Arthur  Venus 
with  the  curly  hair  has  been  and  'listed. 
And  I'm  croi-ing  because  his  mother  croi'd. 
I  can't  bear  to  see  anybody  croi — I  can't.'' 

And  she  crept  out  the  back  way  among 
the  bushes  so  that  Susan  should  not  see 
her  tears. 


CHAPTER  XL 

Chaste  Conversation  Coupled  with  Fear. 

The  next  afternoon,  Mrs.  Triptree,  the 
Vicar's  wife,  sallied  forth  on  foot  to  call 
on  her  friend,  Mrs.  Crecy.  She  wore  her 
best  green  silk  with  the  brown  stripes, 
and  her  bonnet  had  four  strings — two  to 
tie  under  her  chin,  and  two,  of  broad, 
figured  ribbon,  to  fly  in  the  wind.  Her 
face  was  round  and  red,  but  she  had  a 
white  sharp  nose ;  her  eyes  were  as  black 
and  lustreless  as  currants,  and  her  lips 
were  like  the  mouthpiece  of  a  trumpet. 
She  bore  in  her  hand  a  small  silk  parasol, 
edged  with  long  fringe  and  mounted  on  a 
long  ivory  stick.  Her  gloves  were  of 
white  kid  with  two  buttons.  On  one 
wrist  she  wore  a  gold   bracelet ;  on  the 


Conversation  Coupled  with  Fear.  153 

other,  a  band  of  black  velvet.  And  thus 
she  came  to  the  great  front  door  of 
"  Randalls,"  where,  it  so  happened,  Mrs. 
Crecy  was  alighting  from  her  high 
barouche  drawn  by  gray  horses. 

"  Good-afternoon,  Mrs.  Triptree,"  said 
she.  "  I  would  not  have  missed  you  for 
a  sovereign  !  I  hope  your  daughters  are 
none  the  worse  for  my  party  yesterday, 
although,  to  be  sure,  I  gave  them  but  a 
very  simple  tea." 

"Ah,  we  all  know  your  simples,  Mrs. 
Crecy,"  said  Mrs.  Triptree,  "  tipsy  cake 
and  hot-house  grapes  and  champagne  cup, 
and  every  sort  of  tart.  Upon  my  word, 
there  is  no  one  in  Ottley — no,  nor  from 
all  I  can  hear,  in  the  whole  county — that 
keeps  such  a  table.  The  Colonel's  wife 
gives  a  very  poor  spread — such  a  spread 
as  you  wouldn't  set  before  your  own 
family  ! " 

"La!"  said  Mrs.  Crecy,  "and  I've 
heard  that  her  god  is  her  stomach.     The 


iS4  The  Herb-Moon. 

longer  I  live,  Mrs.  Triptree,  the  less  heed 
I  give  to  gossip.  But  come  into  the 
garden  where  it  is  cool  and  tell  me  your 
news." 

"  Oh,  my  dear!  "  said  Mrs.  Triptree,  as 
they  crossed  the  hall,  "  I  look  to  you  for 
that.  We  are  very  dull  at  the  Vicarage 
just  now — unless  some  things  I  heard  this 
morning  should  happen  to  be  true.  But 
there!  what  is  one  to  believe?  I  don't 
like  to  mention  names." 

"  Nor  do  I,"  said  Mrs.  Crecy,  "  for, 
upon  my  word,  the  servants  have  ears  in 
every  tree.  But  does  the  name  you  were 
thinking  of  begin  with  '  A  '  ?  " 

"  One  might  be  said  to  begin  with  an 
1  A,'  "  replied  Mrs.  Triptree. 

"And  I'll  be  bound  it  has  an  '  R '  in 
it." 

"To  be  sure  there  is  more  than  one 
'  R '  in  the  story,  Mrs.  Crecy." 

"  And  that  other  '  R  *  is  the  first  letter 
of  a  name  ending  in  'T  *?" 


Conversation  Coupled  with  Fear.  155 

"  'Tis  really  too  bad  of  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Triptree,  "  you  are  worse  than  a  judge." 

"  Mrs.  A.  has  gone  to  town  and  Mr.  R. 
has  enlisted !  "  said  Mrs.  Crecy.  "  Cook 
heard  it  at  crack  of  dawn  this  morning 
from  the  milk-boy.  You  could  have 
blown  me  away  like  a  thistle  when  she 
told  me.  '  Well,  I  never,'  said  I,  '  well,  I 
never!'  Just  like  that.  ' What  does  the 
Vicar  think  ? '  I  thought  to  myself.  '  I 
would  give  five  shillings  to  know  what 
the  Vicar  says  to  this.'  " 

"The  Vicar,"  said  Mrs.  Triptree,  "has 
always  been  of  my  opinion  that  Mrs. 
Arden  is  a  woman  with  the  nicest  ideas 
of  propriety.  When  do  you  see  her 
decked  out?  Her  best  black  silk  is  her 
wedding  dress  dyed.  I  heard  that  from 
Susan.  When  does  she  put  her  veil  up 
in  church?  When  does  she  go  out  before 
the  sermon  ?  When  does  she  invite  cu- 
rates or  married  men  to  tea?  When  do 
you  find  her  gossiping  at  street  corners  ? 


156  The  Herb-Moon. 

She's  a  very  nice  woman,  indeed,  and  if 
she's  plain,  that's  not  her  fault,  and  per- 
haps it's  her  blessing.  And  if  she  looks 
thirty-nine — if  she's  a  day — it  may  be  her 
age  or  it  may  be  trouble — that  is  neither 
here  nor  there.  I  don't  as  a  rule  trust 
auburn  hair,  but  we  should  always  hope 
for  the  best." 

"  And  I  can  hear  nothing  said  against 
Louis  Robsart,"  observed  Mrs.  Crecy. 
"You  may  depend,  however,  that  there 
is  more  in  this  enlisting  than  we  think. 
Say  what  you  will,  it  looks  very  odd, 
Mrs.  Triptree." 

"  Nothing  would  surprise  me,"  said 
Mrs.  Triptree,  "but  as  he  went  last  night 
to  Lauderston  and  he  has  chosen  foreign 
service,  we  may  take  it  that  what  may 
have  been,  will  be  no  more !  " 

"And  who  knows  what  may  have 
been?"  said  Mrs.  Crecy. 

"Who,  indeed?"  said  Mrs.  Triptree. 
"  I    was     thinking — but     why    say     it  ? 


Conversation  Coupled  with  Fear*  157 

What  a  lovely  view  you  have  from  this 
seat.  To  watch  the  world  from  such  a 
corner,  Mrs.  Crecy,  one  would  swear  it 
was  all  virtue.  The  blue  sky  and  the 
peaceful  cows.  Heaven  above  and  happy 
animals,  made  by  the  Creator,  basking 
in  the  sun.  A  pretty,  pretty  sight !  Do 
you  get  your  meat  from  Lauderston,  or 
do  you  still  kill  your  own?  " 

"  We  kill  our  own,"  replied  Mrs.  Crecy, 
"  and  if  you  would  accept  a  sirloin  of 
beef — the  best  (though  that's  not  much) 
that  poor  '  Randalls '  can  offer — I  should 
be  most  happy." 

"  La  !  "  said  Mrs.  Triptree,  "  one  would 
think  I  had  been  hinting,  whereas  such  a 
thought  never  came  into  my  head !  I 
vow  it  isn't  safe  to  admire  the  least  object 
in  your  presence.  The  Vicarage  is  al- 
ready much  beholden  to  you." 

"  Be  that  as  it  may,"  replied  Mrs. 
Crecy,  "  where  gratitude  is,  I  say,  there 
it's  worth  your  while  to  drop  favors.     Not 


158  The  Herb-Moon* 

that  I  am  able  to  do  all  I  could  wish,  for, 
what  with  the  house  and  the  stables,  the 
servants'  hire  and  keep,  what  with  the 
grounds  and  victuals,  what  with  clothes 
for  one's  back,  works  of  art  and  the 
cellar — a  thousand  pound  seems  no  more 
than  a  sixpenny  bit.  Yet  you  are  wel- 
come to  the  beef,  Mrs.  Triptree — most 
welcome.  I  hope,  as  the  old  saying  goes, 
it  will  be  cut  and  come  again.  But  what 
were  you  thinking  about  poor  Mrs.  Ar- 
den?" 

"  La !  I  have  clean  forgotten.  Ah  well, 
'tis  all  for  the  best.  A  tale  loses  noth- 
ing by  being  repeated — be  as  careful  as 
you  please.  A  quart  of  doubt  to  an 
ounce  of  truth  is  the  safest  brew.  Yet — 
though  I  never  spoke  again — I  should 
have  to  say  my  say  if  a  question  were  put 
to  me  on  oath.  If  I  were  put  on  my 
oath,  Mrs.  Crecy,  and  any  one  were  to 
ask  me,  '  Have  you  any  reason  to  suspect 
thus  and  so  ? '  or,  '  Do  you  think  that  a 


Conversation  Coupled  with  Fear*  159 

certain  person  is  this,  that,  or  the  other?  ' 
I  should  feel  bound  to  tell  the  truth." 

"And  what  would  you  say,  Mrs.  Trip- 
tree  ?  " 

"  I  should  say,  '  Well,  be  it  far  from  me 
to  judge,  but  if  I  know  a  pigeon  from  a 
beehive,  that  young  man  is  in  love  with 
Edward  Banish's  sister ! '  It  all  points 
to  it,  Mrs.  Crecy.  She,  being  a  God-fear- 
ing, superior  person,  leaves  Ottley,  and  he, 
in  a  fit  of  pique,  enlists.  Tis  as  clear  as 
anything  in  a  book.  There  was  never  a 
clearer  case.  And  that  reminds  me.  My 
girls  were  saying  that  you  had  young 
Banish  here  yesterday.  That  was  most 
condescending,  I  am  sure.  He  owes  you 
a  great  deal.  Let  us  pray  he  knows  his 
place  and  will  give  you  no  trouble.  For 
what  is  an  organist  in  comparison  with  a 
Miss  Chloe  Crecy  ?  Young  men  hope 
very  high  nowadays." 

"  So  far  as  birth  goes,"  said  Mrs. 
Crecy,  "  I  have  no  false  pride.     If  a  man 


160  The  Herb-Moon. 

is  gentleman-like  and  has  an  uncle  who 
is  a  clerk  in  the  House  of  Commons — 
and  that  means  influence,  Mrs.  Triptree 
— and  if  he  is  cousin  to  a  Lady  Barrow, 
he  may  always  find  a  friend  at  '  Ran- 
dalls ' ! " 

"You  surprise  me,  Mrs.  Crecy.  I 
never  heard  that  Mr.  Banish  was  related 
to  a  lady  of  title.  I  knew  that  he  was 
well-connected  and  had  a  grandfather  in 
the  Navy,  but  more  than  this  I  never 
dreamt  of! " 

"  His  aunt,  my  dear,  was  the  Honor- 
able Mrs.  Puxter — I  heard  it  all  this 
morning  from  Dr.  Somers,  whose  god- 
father was  her  medical  man.  She  died 
of  dropsy  at  Brighton,  having  been  tapped 
nine  times.     The  world  is  very  small." 

"  Now  I  think  of  Mr.  Banish,"  said 
Mrs.  Triptree,  "he  certainly  has  an  air 
out  of  the  common.  But  he's  poor,  Mrs. 
Crecy,  very  poor,  and  when  a  man  is 
needy,  there's  no  limit  to  his  daring.     If 


Conversation  Coupled  with  Fear.  161 

there's  sixty  thousand  pound  to  be  set- 
tled on  any  one,  he  won't  think  the  less 
of  them  on  that  account !  A  word  to  the 
wise  is  my  motto.  And  Miss  Chloe  Crecy 
need  not  waste  her  time  with  an  Honor- 
able's  nephew  while  she  has  a  fortune  ' 
worth  an  Honorable  in  his  own  right !  " 

"  La !  "  said  Mrs.  Crecy,  "  Chloe  never 
thinks  of  marriage,  and  as  for  her  papa 
and  myself  we  are  very  humble-minded. 
We  never  push.  We  gave  her  a  fine 
education,  to  be  sure :  she  speaks  French, 
sings  Italian,  and  can  paint  flowers  on 
wood,  china,  or  common  drawing-paper. 
I  would  sooner  hear  her  play  than  a 
musical  box,  and  her  dancing  is  very 
much  admired.  But  I  never  speak  of 
these  things." 

"  Her  looks,  Mrs.  Crecy,  her  looks 
alone  are  the  talk  of  Ottley.  What  a 
complexion  !  But  don't  let  her  draw  her 
stays  too  tight.  She  doesn't  need  it : 
her  figure  is  perfection." 


1 62  The  Herb-Moon. 

"  Beauty  is  but  skin-deep,  Mrs.  Trip- 
tree.  There's  nothing  truer  than  these 
old  sayings." 

"  What  a  delicious  scent  on  your 
handkerchief!  " 

"  Made  from  our  own  lavender.  Let 
me  send  you  a  bottle.  .  .  .  You  spoke 
in  such  a  way,  Mrs.  Triptree,  that  one 
would  think  you  had  some  person  in  your 
mind." 

"  I  never  talk  for  the  sake  of  talking, 
Mrs.  Crecy.  I  happened  to  know  that 
there  is  an  officer  at  Lauderston  who  is 
most  desirous  of  making  your  acquaint- 
ance. He's  a  very  fine  man  indeed,  and 
own  brother  to  Lord  Rendlewick.  If  you 
should  invite  him  here  to  dinner,  I  wish 
I  could  be  as  sure  of  everything  as  I  am 
that  my  girls  would  very  soon  be  brides- 
maids on  a  certain  happy  occasion  !  " 

"  You  mean  the  Honorable  Charles 
Camelot,  Mrs.  Triptree,  who  was  in 
attendance     on    the     General    when    he 


Conversation  Coupled  with  Fean  163 

opened  the  Flower  Show  at  Radley 
Soham.  I  remember  him  well — he  talked 
to  Mr.  Crecy  for  a  good  ten  minutes.  A 
little-ish  man  with  long  arms  and  a  wart 
on  his  left  eyebrow.  I  can  well  believe 
that  he  might  be  very  affable.  It  may 
be  with  him  as  it  is  with  many — when 
you  say  that  he's  not  much  to  look  at, 
you've  said  the  worst.  But  how  could 
we  ask  him  to  the  house,  knowing  him  so 
little?" 

"  He  is  not  one  to  stand  on  ceremony," 
said  Mrs.  Triptree.  "  Mr.  Crecy  could 
call  upon  him,  and  then  you  could  write 
him  a  nice  civil  note,  saying  that  you  are 
having  a  few  old  friends  very  quietly  to 
dinner — and  so  on." 

"  Then  you  and  the  Vicar  must  fix  the 
date,  Mrs.  Triptree." 

"  La  !  You  are  far  too  good.  I  never 
once  thought  that  you  would  want  us ! 
Then  shall  you  say  Tuesday  week?  " 

"  By  all  means." 


164  The  Herb-Moon. 

"How  hot  it  is  getting!  Really,  it  is 
not  the  weather  for  walking." 

"  Rivers  shall  drive  you  home  in  the 
pony-chaise,  Mrs.  Triptree,"  said  Mrs. 
Crecy,  "  but  we  must  first  have  tea." 


CHAPTER  XIL 
Concerning  a  Goddess  of  Mortal  Speech, 

Now  about  a  fortnight  later,  Rose  and 
Mrs.  Harrowby,  her  nephew — Sir  Harry 
Blythe,  and  Colonel  Thompson  of  the 
— th  Lancers  were  sitting  at  luncheon 
in  the  dining-room  at  99  Cavendish 
Square.  The  Colonel  looked  like  a  plaster 
cast  of  Napoleon  spoilt  in  the  baking, 
and  his  voice  sounded  as  though  he  had 
spent  his  life  swallowing  crumbs  the 
wrong  way.  Otherwise  he  was  an  amiable 
gentleman  and  a  brave  soldier. 

"  Our  sergeant,"  he  was  saying,  "  picks 
up  the  strangest  recruits.  He  aims 
straight  at  the  love-sick.  His  latest  prey 
is  a  factory  clerk  who  was  at  Eton  and 
Cambridge !     But    his    papa    married    a 


1 66  The  Herb-Moon. 

lady  with  canary-colored  hair,  lost  all  his 
money,  and  came  to  smash.  This  chap 
is  a  fine  fellow,  but  melancholy — O  Lord  ! 
It  seems  that  his  sweetheart  was  already 
married." 

"  And  he  looks  melancholy  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Harrowby  ;  "  incredible  !  " 

"  Scoffer  !  "  said  the  Colonel.  "  I  can 
assure  you  it's  a  very  sad  affair.  The 
sergeant  heard  it  from  the  local  draper, 
and  the  local  draper  heard  it  from  his 
wife.  When  one  woman  tells  a  story  to 
the  credit  of  another  woman's  virtue — 
you  may  depend  on  its  truth." 

"  I  wish  to  hear  no  true  stories,"  said 
Mrs.  Harrowby,  "  or  I  shall  lose  my  com- 
fortable detestation  of  life." 

"You  are  as  cold  in  your  hatreds  as 
your  loves,"  said  the  Colonel ;  "  for  you 
establish  both  on  the  artificial." 

"  Fiddle-de-dee ! "  quoth  she.  "  I 
adored  you  for  years  and  I  adore  you 
still,  yet  if  you  are  not  a  real  man,  I  don't 


A  Goddess  of  Mortal  Speech.  167 

know  a  hypocrite  when  I  see  him  !  You 
men  always  think  we  are  cold  if  we  use 
words  of  more  than  two  syllables,  and 
you  call  us  unkind  if  we  profit  by  your 
philosophy.  Do  you  remember  the  day 
we " 

"All  this  is  very  touching,"  said  Sir 
Harry,  who  was  handsome,  bird-eyed, 
dark,  and  thirty-eight ;  "  but  Mrs.  Arden 
and  I  have  no  pretty  reminiscences  in 
common,  and  we  should  like  to  hear  more 
about  the  new  recruit." 

"  I  can  guess  it,"  said  Mrs.  Harrowby. 
"  His  sweetheart  had  a  husband,  and  she 
refused  to  make  bad  worse !  So  this 
young  friend  thanked  God  for  her  good 
sense,  mistook  relief  for  the  heartache, 
and  enlisted.  There  it  is  !  If  a  woman 
wants  to  keep  a  man's  esteem  for  ever, 
let  her  refuse  to  run  away  with  him. 
That  is  the  one  thing  for  which  the  thank- 
less ruffians  never  fail  to  show  gratitude  !  " 

"  I  like  to  see  a  woman  tender,"  said 


1 68  The  Herb-Moon. 

the  Baronet,  who,  if  rumor  spoke  hon- 
estly, had  deceived  a  dozen  or  so  in  his 
time.  "  I  like  to  see  her  tender,  and,  if 
possible,  sorrowful." 

"  Of  course,  Jack  Libertine,"  said  his 
aunt,  "  because  it  is  the  poor  creature  in 
trouble  who  will  take  the  greatest  risk 
for  a  possible  brief  happiness  !  You  are 
a  rogue,  sir,  and  if  I  ever  hear  of  a  wife 
in  a  scrape,  I  know  that  Harry  Blythe  is 
to  blame  for  it.  Oh,  you  may  look  of- 
fended and  cough — as  though  honor  had 
suddenly  settled — like  a  cold — on  your 
chest !  You  are  a  rascal  and  so  is  my 
dog,  Launcelot !  Yet  I  pet  you  both, 
knowing  full  well,  that  when  I  am  dead, 
he  will  be  ready  to  pick  my  bones  and 
you  will  sell  my  skin !  And  here  is  Rose 
— a  sweet,  kind  soul,  who  would,  I  believe, 
be  fool  enough  to  cry  at  my  funeral,  and 
I  make  her  life  a  burden  and  shall  not 
leave  her  a  shilling.  I  would  never  give 
money  to  women,  my  dear,  for  of  all  the 


A  Goddess  of  Mortal  Speech.  169 

humiliations  piled  upon  our  sex,  there  is 
none  so  cruel  as  to  be  loved  or  married 
for  our  fortune.  The  worst  husband  is 
to  be  respected  while  he  pays  your  bills. 
It  is  hard  to  despise  a  brute,  who,  after 
all,  likes  you  well  enough  to  provide  for 
you.  That  is  why  the  wives  of  laboring 
men  are  rarely  unfaithful.  They  can 
feel — even  while  they  are  kicked — that 
they  were  chosen  for  themselves — not 
for  their  dowries.  Let  a  woman  once 
suspect  that  she  is  loved  for  her  money 
and  she  will  throw  her  cap  over  the  wind- 
mill for  the  first  comer  who  seems  disin- 
terested. We  are  proud,  Thompson  ;  we 
fall  through  pride  far  more  than  passion." 

"  Yet,"  said  Rose,  timidly,  "  is  it  not 
rather  vanity  than  self-respect  which 
makes  a  woman  so  anxious  to  be  wholly 
dependent  on  her  husband  ?  Even  the 
Homeric  Penelope,  whom  you  so  often 
quote,  seems  to  have  been  very  rich." 

"That,"    said  Mrs.    Harrowby,  with  a 


170  The  Herb-Moon. 

twinkle  in  her  eye,  "  is  why  Odysseus  re- 
turned to  her.  He  was  afraid  she  would 
marry  again  and  take  her  fortune  out  of 
the  family  !  Homer  understood  human 
nature,  my  love.  Poor  Rosie  !  "  she  con- 
tinued ;  "  I  never  liked  Arden,  as  you 
know ;  but  you  hadn't  a  halfpenny  piece 
when  he  chose  you.  It  was  all  for  your 
face  and  your  good  temper,  my  dear. 
Now  I  was  handsomer  in  my  youth  than 
you  would  believe,  and  I  had  the  disposi- 
tion of  a  love-bird.  I  danced  like  a  fairy  ; 
sang  like  a  lark ;  played  the  harp,  talked 
three  languages,  and  God  knows  what 
not !  And  I  had  ten  thousand  a  year, 
which  gave  me  the  refusal  of  every  laggard 
in  the  realm.  They  all  wanted  me,  my 
poor  Rosie,  they  were  all  so  deeply  in 
debt.  Did  I  marry  to  please  myself? 
No,  I  had — like  the  rest — not  the  fear  of 
God  but  the  fear  of  the  flunky  before  "my 
eyes.  I  chose  a  husband  who  would 
please  my  flunkies  :  my  maid,  my  dress- 


A  Goddess  of  Mortal  Speech.  171 

maker,  my  shoemaker  and  my  groom 
were  all  a-gog ;  my  inferiors  were  all  jeal- 
ous, my  equals  came,  smirking,  to  the 
wedding,  and  my  superiors  thought  I  had 
done  very  well  for  myself !  It  was  a 
glorious  day  for  the  footman  when  I  mar- 
ried the  Duke  of  Chale !  " 

Mrs.  Harrowby  never  wearied  of  telling 
these  old  stories,  nor,  during  their  recital, 
did  her  friends  ever  miss  showing  at  the 
right  moments  the  appropriate  signs  of 
astonishment,  admiration,  and  mirth. 
There  was  often,  it  must  be  owned,  a 
certain  vindictiveness  in  her  tone  which 
would  have  been  called  vulgar  had  she 
been  a  woman  of  less  distinguished  birth. 
Her  constant  allusions  to  her  money,  her 
family  name,  her  marriages,  her  admirers, 
and  her  exploits  would  have  been  intoler- 
able but  for  her  good  heart  and  the  un- 
affected freshness  of  her  manner.  She 
spoke  her  mind — and  that  is  a  quality 
which,  if  ill-bred,  at  least   can   never   be 


172  The  Herb-Moon. 

described  as  commonplace.  Sometimes, 
in  the  course  of  conversation,  her  own 
attention  would  wander.  She  would 
finish  a  sentence  in  her  mind,  and  her 
eyes  only  would  betray,  by  their  vivacity 
and  ever-changing  expression,  that  she 
was  re-living  the  drama  of  her  past. 

"  I  was  a  Duchess,"  she  continued, 
"  for  two  very  tiresome  years.  I  yawned, 
I  yapped,  I  suffered  all  the  tortures  of 
the  respectable.  Then  my  Duke  died, 
and,  for  a  change,  I  married  a  mere  Cap- 
tain in  the  Guards — the  son  of  a  country 
squire.  But  I  dropped  my  title,  for,  if  a 
man  is  good  enough  to  call  husband,  one 
may  as  well  take  his  name  !  So  I  became 
plain  Mrs.  Harrowby,  and  all  my  flunkies 
were  shocked.  And  my  cousin,  Sir  Aud- 
ley  de  Borne,  talked  the  Prime  Minister 
blue  till  he  got  my  Harrowby's  uncle  at 
least  knighted — General  Sir  Frankfort 
Harrowby.  The  greatest  duffer  in  the 
Army,    too.     Poor    fellow !      At    thirty- 


A  Goddess  of  Mortal  Speech.  173 

three  I  was  left  a  widow  for  the  second 
time  and  I  have  lived  single  ever  since, 
for  the  only  man  I  would  have  looked  at 
had  not  the  courage  to  marry  me  !  That 
was  Ned  Banish,  Rosie,  your  father — who 
would  have  been  Lord  Chancellor  had  he 
but  shown  more  pluck.  I  have  always 
played  the  goddess  with  men — they 
treated  me  as  Odysseus  did  poor  Circe 
and  Calypso ;  I  told  them  all  my  wis- 
dom and  gave  them  fair  weather  when 
they  sailed  away,  without  a  '  Thank  you,' 
toward  their  Penelopes !  And  what  a 
minx  Penelope  was  !  I  never  could  bear 
that  woman.  Nay,  I  was  always  a  god- 
dess, my  friends.  I  shed  no  tears ;  I 
made  no  scenes  ;  I  uttered  no  reproaches. 
But  I  loved  your  father,  Rosie  ;  he  had 
the  makings  of  an  immortal !  Fetch  me 
his  miniature.  It  is  in  the  fourth  drawer 
of  my  writing-table,  and  the  key  is  on 
the  third  shelf  of  my  wardrobe." 

Rose,  at  this   hint,  gladly  arose  from 


174  The  Herb-Moon. 

her  chair  and  hastened  from  the  room 
with  a  very  cold  acknowledgment  to  Sir 
Harry,  who  opened  the  door  for  her  as 
she  went  out. 

"  Thompson,"  said  Mrs.  Harrowby,  turn- 
ing to  the  Colonel  when  she  had  gone, 
"  you  were  always  a  fool.  Why  must 
you  have  told  that  story  of  the  new  re- 
cruit ?  Rose  is  the  very  woman  he  is 
pining  for! " 

"  Good  God  !  "  said  the  Colonel. 

"  He  shows  his  taste,"  said  Sir  Harry  ; 
"  she's  a  seductive  creature :  subtle- 
minded." 

"  Now,  Harry,"  said  Mrs.  Harrowby, 
turning  full  upon  him,  "  I'll  have  none  of 
your  nonsense  here.  I  saw  you  at  lunch 
— looking  like  a  shot  robin  at  my  meek 
Jenny  Wren.  Have  you  no  moral  sense, 
sir?  Can't  I  have  a  poor  widow  in  my 
house  but  you  must  make  love  to  her 
with  your  eyelashes  and  pass  her  the  pep- 
per as  though  it  were  your  heart  ?  " 


A  Goddess  of  Mortal  Speech,  175 

"A  widow,  aunt?"  said  he.  "I 
thought  her  husband  was  not  only  alive 
but  mad !  " 

"Hush!"  said  she;  "he  died  two 
days  ago.  I  had  a  letter  from  her 
brother  Edward  last  night,  asking  me  to 
break  the  news  to  her.  But  I  have  not 
told  her  yet,  nor  shall  I,  till  our  gallant 
young  friend,  the  love-sick  recruit,  is 
well  out  of  England  and  on  his  way  to 
India.  Edward  and  he  have  quarreled, 
so  he  will  hear  nothing  from  Edward. 
And  Rose  dare  not  say  good-bye  to  him 
— little  fool !  She  wrote  him  a  note — 
such  a  note !  God-blessing  him  and  the 
rest.  Ah,  Harry,  that's  a  woman  in  ten 
thousand.  But  she  wouldn't  take  you  as 
a  gift.  She  has  no  opinion  of  you.  She 
calls  you  a  vain  coxcomb — a  Dutch  doll 
of  a  man.  And  she  abhors  a  rake.  You 
may  purr  and  purr,  but  you  will  never 
make  the  least  impression  on  her  1 " 

Sir    Harry   looked    as    though  he  had 


176  The  Herb-Moon. 

good  reasons  for  venturing  to  think 
otherwise. 

"And  when  does  the  virtuous  recruit 
sail  for  India  ?  "  said  he. 

"  To-morrow,"  said  Mrs.  Harrowby. 

"  Then,"  said  Sir  Harry,  "  I  will  take 
tea  with  you  to-morrow." 

"  Very  well,  Tarquin,"  said  she.  "  Very 
well,  Lovelace!  Nero!  Jupiter!  Don 
Juan!  Blue-beard!" 

He  smiled  at  the  flattering  salutation, 
bowed  to  the  Colonel,  kissed  his  aunt's 
hand,  and  departed. 

"  There's  a  libertine,"  said  she,  when 
he  had  gone  :  "  a  real  villain.  Rose  is 
the  only  woman  who  could  resist  him, 
and  she  is,  therefore,  the  only  woman  he 
should  marry !  And  marry  him  she  shall, 
Thompson.  I  have  set  my  mind  upon 
it.  I  will  disinherit  him  if  she  does  not. 
I  will  tell  her  so,  too.  She  has  too  much 
kindness  to  see  the  poor  fellow  ruined  !  " 

At  this  moment  Rose  re-entered. 


A  Goddess  of  Mortal  Speech.  177 

"  I  have  searched  everywhere,"  said 
she,  "  but  I  cannot  find  the  miniature." 

"  Dear  heart !  "  said  Mrs.  Harrowby, 
with  great  wonder ;  "  how  odd  !  I  could 
have  sworn  it  was  in  the  fourth  drawer. 
But  have  some  port,  my  love  ;  you  look 
as  pale  as  milk.  Drink  her  health, 
Thompson." 

Poor  Rose  blushed  to  find  herself  the 
object  of  so  much  attention.  She  de- 
clined the  wine,  but  the  Colonel  drank  to 
her  happiness  with  much  fervor  and  a  wink 
at  Mrs.  Harrowby. 

"  May  your  heart  be  ever  blithe, 
Ma'am,"  said  he,  with  an  air  of  seraphic 
innocence  ;  "  you  must  cheer  up  !  Better 
days  are  coming!  'Tis  always  darkest 
before  dawn,  and  every  cloud  has  a  silver 
lining !  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  she.  "  I  am,  I 
hope,  very  cheerful — very  cheerful, 
indeed !  I  was  never  more  contented 
nor  so  easy  in  my  mind." 


178  The  Herb-Moon, 

And  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  Now,  Rosie,"  said  Mrs.  Harrowby, 
"  we  must  drink  to  this  turtle's  safe 
return.     He  sails  to-morrow." 

"I  know,"  said  Rose,  "  I  have  not  for- 
gotten. And,  Colonel — I  have  heard 
from  my  brother  that  there's  a  young 
man  called  Arthur  Venus — from  Ottley — 
who  has  enlisted  in  your  regiment.  His 
mother  is  a  widow  :  he  is  all  she  has  :  and 
our  little  maid  is  his  sweetheart.  If  he 
should  ever  get  into  trouble— and  I  be- 
lieve he  is  rather  headstrong — will  you  re- 
member that  there  are  two  women  .  .  . 
two  poor  desolate  women  .  .  .  who  love 
him  dearly.  But  then,"  she  added, 
"that  might  be  said,  no  doubt,  of  all  the 
others.  There  will,  I  am  sure,  be  many 
in  trouble  to-morrow." 

"  Many,"  said  the  Colonel,  refilling  his 
glass;  "many.  And  the  men,  too,  will 
need  all  their  pluck,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Crocodile  !  "  said  Mrs.  Harrowby. 

But  Rose  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 
In    which  Mrs.  Harrowby  is  Eloquent* 

When  Sir  Harry  called  on  the  morrow, 
he  was  filled  with  disappointment  to  learn 
that  Mrs.  Arden  was  confined  to  her 
room  with  a  headache.  Mrs.  Harrowby, 
in  a  very  ill  temper,  received  him,  and 
declared  that  she  herself  was  not  long  for 
this  world — so  weary  was  she  of  its  fools 
and  Tom-fools. 

"  Thompson  and  his  regiment,"  said  she, 
"  left  England,  as  you  know,  early  this 
morning.  Rose  brought  me  my  cup  of  tea 
as  usual  at  half-past  seven,  but  she  came 
with  such  a  face  that  I  could  not  drink  a 
spoonful.  She  had  been  crying  all  night, 
and  she  looked  like  a  drowned  dove." 

"  Then  she  has  a  heart,"  said  Sir 
Harry,  much  comforted:    "I    feared  she 


180  The  Herb-Moon. 

was  one  of  those  hard  women  who  re- 
member you  in  their  prayers,  and,  for  the 
rest  of  the  time,  forget  you  !  " 

"  I  could  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Harrowby, 
severely,  "  that  you  had  met  but  such  ad- 
mirable creatures!  " 

"Tell  me  about  Rose,"  said  he. 

"  She  depressed  me.  '  Rose,'  said  I,  in 
the  cheerfullest  way,  '  I  have  some  news 
for  you.  Your  husband  is  dead  !  '  At 
this  she  reeled  like  a  top  and  fell  down  in 
a  swoon.  A  swoon,  sir !  I  thought 
widows  swooned  in  poetry  only  !  And 
now  she  lies  on  my  bed  without  a  word 
or  a  question,  staring  at  the  wall." 

"  Poor  girl !  "  said  Sir  Harry,  kindly, 
"  she  must  have  been  fond  of  the  fellow." 

"  Once,  no  doubt,  she  was,"  said  Mrs. 
Harrowby  ;  "  and  who  can  tell  what  may 
be  passing  in  her  mind  ?  Perhaps  she  is 
thinking  of  the  time  when  he  looked  like 
a  hero,  and  she  is  burying  that  picture." 

She  glanced  at  him  and  thought  it  a 


Mrs.  Harrowby  is  Eloquent.  181 

scandal  that  such  a  smooth  wretch  should 
not  be  ruffled  by  matrimony. 

"  Rose  is  not  for  you,"  said  she  ;  "  and 
I  hope  you  will  never  be  such  a  fool  as  to 
think  of  marriage." 

"  I  must  settle  down  some  day,"  said 
he,  falling  into  the  trap  ;  "  but  I  am  in  no 
hurry." 

"  You  are  not  to  make  love  to  Mrs. 
Arden." 

"  My  wife  must  be  a  woman  of  the 
world." 

"Rose  is  no  simpleton,  but  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  have  one's  husband  in  a  lunatic 
asylum  and  be  at  once  religious,  witty, 
and  good-looking !  " 

"  You  are  flippant,"  said  Sir  Harry, 
somewhat  shocked. 

"  There  is  no  one  so  serious  as  a  liber- 
tine," said  Mrs.  Harrowby,  with  a  bow. 

He  flushed. 

"  I  do  not  wonder,"  he  observed,  "  that 
you  drove  every  man  away  from  you." 


1 82  The  Herb-Moon. 

Mrs.  Harrowby  admired  his  pluck  for 
daring  to  speak  so  rudely  to  a  sick 
relation.  She  could  never  forget  her 
wealth. 

"  My  dear,"  said  she,  "  I  never  drove 
men  away  by  my  chatter — they  enjoyed 
it.  But  many  think  it  is  the  chief  mis- 
sion of  a  devoted  wife  to  tempt  her  hus- 
band to  eat  more  than  is  good  for  him.  I 
kept  too  plain  a  table,  and  I  never  tried 
to  look  alluring.  I  confess  to  these 
crimes." 

"  It  is  for  a  husband,"  said  Sir  Harry, 
"  to  dictate  the  terms  of  his  existence.  I 
had  rather  live  for  ten  years  in  my  way 
than  for  forty,  yours  !  A  wife  is  neither  a 
trainer  nor  a  keeper " 

"  But  a  slave,"  said  Mrs.  Harrowby. 
"  I  found  that  out  too  late.  If  I  had  let 
my  two  husbands  and  my  thirty-six 
wooers  go  straight  to  the  devil,  they 
would  have  adored  me  for  ever." 

"  The  charm  of  Rose  lies  in  the  fact," 


Mrs.  Harrowby  is  Eloquent,  183 

said  Sir  Harry,  "  that  she  never  makes 
bitter  remarks." 

"  That  is  because  she  has  the  gift  of 
loving  with  her  eyes  shut." 

"  Do  you  think  that  fellow  in  the  coun- 
try made  a  deep  impression  on  her?" 
asked  Sir  Harry. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Harrowby,  "and  I 
will  tell  you  why.  So  far  as  I  can  learn 
he  rarely  spoke  and  they  were  never  alone 
together.  He  lived  a  life  of  routine,  and 
his  history  was  such  a  blank  that  she 
could  make  what  she  pleased  of  it.  She 
therefore  imagined  all  he  might  have 
said,  and  naturally  found  his  conversation 
pleasing !  For  the  rest,  he  was  young, 
handsome,  and  poor.  All  this  might 
have  led  to  a  story,  but  virtue  with  Rose 
was  the  first— and  not  the  after — 
thought." 

"  Morality,"  said  he,  "  or  virtue — if  you 
prefer  to  call  it  so — is  a  question  of  good 
or     bad    taste.     In  the   circumstances,   I 


184  The  Herb-Moon. 

should  describe  Mrs.  Arden's  conduct  as 
showing  good  taste — nothing  more.  It 
must  have  been  dull,  but  it  was  not  ridic- 
ulous. It  may  have  been  feeble,  but  it 
was  not  sordid." 

He  looked  up  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

"  That  is  how,"  he  added,  "  I  criticise 
life.  I  want  no  prude,  no  hypocrite,  no 
Magdalene  who  sins  to-day  because  re- 
pentence  will  become  heron  the  morrow  ! 
I  keep  my  respect  for  a  woman  with  good 
taste." 

"  Is  religion  nothing  to  you,  Harry?  " 

"  In  Rose's  case,"  he  said,  drily,  "  I  be- 
lieve it  is  genuine  :  I  cannot  say  more." 

"  Like  many  of  us,"  said  Mrs.  Har- 
rowby,  "  your  vanity  is  such  that  when 
you  hear  of  any  beautiful  quality  which 
you  yourself  do  not  possess,  you  doubt 
its  existence  in  any  one." 

"  Don't  preach,"  said  her  nephew,  get- 
ting irritable. 

She  continued  : 


Mrs.  Harrowby  is  Eloquent.  185 

"You  should  have  developed  your 
heart  before  your  senses — not  your 
senses  before  your  heart.  That  is  why 
you  are  so  cold." 

"  Cold  ? "  said  he,  casting  down  his 
eyes. 

"  Yes,"  said  his  aunt,  "  for  there  is 
nothing  so  cold  as  passion." 

"  Really,"  said  he,  indignant — "  really, 
my  dear  aunt " 

"  You  can  go  to  your  club,"  she  re- 
plied, "  and  reconsider  all  I  have  been 
saying.     It  will  bear  reflection." 

He  poured  the  contents  of  the  cream- 
jug  into  his  tea-cup,  swallowed  it,  and 
took  his  departure. 

Then  Mrs.  Harrowby  went  to  Rose, 
who  still  lay  on  her  bed,  staring  at  the 
wall. 

"I  suppose,"  said  the  old  woman,  "you 
will  write  the  news  to  our  mad  young 
friend,  the  new  recruit  ?  " 

"  No." 


1 86  The  Herb-Moon, 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  How  little  you  know  me  !  " 

"  When  my  Duke  died,  I  telegraphed 
at  once  to  my  six  best  friends !  How- 
ever, please  yourself.  I  want  you  to  be 
happy — that  is  all.  Harry  Blythe  sends 
you  his  sympathy." 

"Thank  him." 

"  I  believe  he  is  fond  of  you.  A  good 
woman  might  reform  him.  He  is  by  no 
means  the  scoundrel  he  would  appear. 
In  his  heart  I  am  convinced  he  would 
like  nothing  better  than  a  pretty  wife, 
several  children — all  resembling  himself 
— and  a  few  houses.  He  would  ask  no 
more.  And  I  have  never  heard  him  say 
a  word  against  marriage.  All  his  opinions 
are  respectable.  Think  of  him,  my  love  ! 
Be  cheerful.  Good  heavens !  We  take 
our  joys  as  though  they  were  trifles,  and 
act  as  though  melancholy  were  the  only 
serious  thing  in  life !  You  are  still  young 
— or  young  enough  to  regard  the  Future 


Mrs*  Harrowby  is  Eloquent*  187 

as  something  more  lively  than  a  grave- 
yard. You  must  go  out  and  show  your- 
self." 

"  Impossible ! " 

"  My  dear,  the  dullest  of  women  has 
two  occasions  when  she  can  command  all 
eyes — at  her  own  wedding  and  at  her 
husband's  funeral." 

"Am  I  a  mountebank?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Harrowby  ;  "  you  are 
the  fool  who  risks  her  neck  to  jump 
through  a  paper  hoop !  You  ride  too 
high  a  horse." 

1 '  What  have  I  done  ?  "  cried  Rose. 

"  When  my  father  lost  his  temper," 
continued  Mrs.  Harrowby,  "  he  always 
killed  two  dogs  and  kicked  the  footman 
lame.     I  have  his  spirit !  " 

"  If  I  have  offended  you,"  said  Rose, 
"  speak  out !  " 

"  You  enjoy  suffering,"  said  Mrs.  Har- 
rowby ;  "you  nurse  your  misery.  If  I 
could  but  persuade  you  that  marriage  is 


1 88  Tlie  Herb-Moon. 

a  martyrdom,  you  would  marry  again  to- 
morrow. I  am  above  such  silly  decep- 
tions. If  you  accepted  Harry  Blythe 
you  would  be  happy — I  repeat  it, 
happy !  " 

Rose  sat  up  and  smoothed  back  her 
disordered  hair. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  she. 

"You  could  get  him,"  observed  Mrs. 
Harrowby ;  "  play  your  cards  well  and 
you  can  be  Lady  Blythe — all,  merely  for 
your  face  and  your  irritating  manner.  I 
have  set  my  heart  upon  it.  I  will  see 
one  love-match  before  I  die,  please  God." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Rose,  quietly, 
"  you  talk  like  a  woman  in  a  dream." 

"  I  will  give  dinner-parties ;  I  will  buy 
you  fine  gowns,"  said  Mrs.  Harrowby  ; 
"you  shall  appear  at  every  advantage. 
And  if  he  has  the  sense  to  marry  you,  I 
will  leave  him  every  penny  of  my 
money." 

"  I  don't  want  him,"  said  Rose. 


Mrs,  Harrowby  is  Eloquent,  189 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Harrowby,  "  you  pre- 
fer Robsart.  You  will  sacrifice  all  things 
for  a  man  who  would  write  on  your  tomb- 
stone, '  Here  lies  some  one  whose  name 
I  have  forgotten  !  '  Your  father  all  over 
again  ! " 

Rose  dissolved  into  tears,  and  fell  back 
weeping  on  her  pillow. 

"Have  I  ever  seen  such  weakness?" 
said  Mrs.  Harrowby.  "  Have  I  ever 
known  of  such  folly  ?  Was  there  ever  so 
cruel — so  pitiless  a  woman  ?  Poor  Harry 
Blythe  just  waits  for  your  word  to  be- 
come a  new  creature.  You  have  the 
chance  to  save  a  noble  soul — yet  you  re- 
fuse it.  You  will  watch  him  seek  out — 
in  desperation — some  fawning  Delilah ; 
you  will  permit  him  to  be  disinherited ; 
you  will  see  a  brilliant  career  played 
away  in  country  houses,  obscure  hotels, 
and  inglorious  boudoirs  !     An  outrage  !  " 

"  It  is  impossible,"  said  Rose,  "that  he 
could  have  the  smallest  interest   in  me. 


i9°  The  Herb-Moon. 

We  have  not  exchanged  a  dozen  words 
in  confidence." 

"You  have  made  him  timid — what 
better  proof  could  you  ask  of  his  affec- 
tion?" 

"  I  am  neither  beautiful  nor  clever," 
continued  Rose ;  "  I  am  poor  and  ordi- 
nary.    What  could  he  see  in  me  ?  " 

"  Now  I  think  of  it,"  observed  Mrs. 
Harrowby,  with  an  air  of  abstraction, 
"  that  wicked  Delilah  but  cut  off  Samson's 
hair.  The  pious  Jael,  however,  cut  off 
her  lover's  head  !  *  You  good  creatures 
are  so  severe.  Why  analyze  Blythe's 
feelings  ?  You  attract  him — you  tempt 
him  to  reform  !     Is  not  that  sufficient?" 

Rose  dried  her  eyes,  and  walked  from 
the  bed  to  the  dressing-table. 

"  Look  at  me !  "  she  said :  "  I  am 
faded  and  heart-broken.  What  man  would 
remember  me? " 

She  was  thinking  of  Robsart. 

*  Mrs.  Harrowby  had  no  doubt  read  Balzac. 


Mrs.  Harrowby  is  Eloquent.  191 

"An  inexperienced  man,"  said  Mrs. 
Harrowby,  following  her  mind,  "  would 
forget  you  at  once— because  he  would  not 
have  the  sense  to  know  that  you  were 
rare.  But  you  are  foolish  to  indulge  in 
these  cryings  and  frettings.  Penelope 
would  have  looked  a  hag  on  her  husband's 
return  if  the  goddess  had  not  given  her  a 
second  youth.  And  there  are  no  more 
goddesses !  So  think  of  your  complex- 
ion. No  grief  is  worth  a  wrinkle.  Did 
you  ever  see  a  finer  skin  than  mine  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  It  is  the  result  of  cream  and  philoso- 
phy :  cream  during  sleep  and  philosophy 
all  day !  " 

A  little  pink  gaiety  budded  in  Rose's 
pale  cheeks. 

"  You  are  wonderful,"  said  she :  "  you 
are  the  one  woman  in  the  world — you  can 
love  and  be  wise  !  " 

"  What  do  you  know  of  love  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Harrowby. 


192  The  Herb-Moon* 

"  Not  much,"  she  said,  hastily ;  "  not 
much." 

"That's  a  lie." 

"  I  had  affection  for  my  husband — and 
I  have  had  ...  a  friendship !  " 

"  The  friendship  made  more  impression 
than  the  husband  ?  " 

"  I  was  older  ..." 

"  Describe  Robsart  again  !  Show  me 
his  picture !  " 

"  I  have  none." 

Mrs.  Harrowby  looked  grave.  Were 
matters  so  serious  ?  "  What  ?  ' '  said  she  ; 
"  you  dare  not  keep  his  photograph  ?  " 

"  I  need  not,"  said  Rose. 

"  His  face  is  always  before  you  ?  " 

"Always,"  said  Rose,  quietly. 

This  candor  was  unexpected.  Had 
Rose  already  caught  the  audacity  born  of 
freedom  ? 

"  He  is  a  pauper,"  said  Mrs.  Harrowby, 
after  a  long  pause. 

"  He  is  a  king  !  " 


Mrs.  Harrowby  is  Eloquent.  193 

"  He  could  not  support  you  !  " 

"I  worship  him." 

"  This,"  said  Mrs.  Harrowby,  "  is  un- 
seemly .  .  .  What  will  you  live  on? 
Virtue  by  itself  makes  a  thin  diet." 

"  We  shall  never  marry." 

"  Blythe  is  not  a  man  who  would  per- 
mit his  wife  to  be  a  saint-tamer!  " 

"What  do  you  think  I  meant?" 

"  What  most  women  mean,  when  they 
speak  of  kings  whom  they  cannot  marry, 
and  mere  friends — whom  they  worship ! 
You  will  eat  your  breakfast  bacon  with 
my  poor  Harry,  and  read  poetry  with 
Robsart !  " 

This  suggestion  was  so  false  that  Rose 
laughed  aloud. 

"  A  clerk,"  continued  Mrs.  Harrowby, 
"  is  a  salaried  hypocrite.  He  is  a  grain 
of  brickdust  in  the  great  pyramids  of 
middle-class  stupidity !  Good  God ! 
You  know  these  things  as  well  as  I  do ! 
What  did  you  see  in  the  man  ?  " 


i94  The  Herb-Moon. 

"  A  soul,"  said  Rose. 

"  Then  he  did  ask  you  to  run  away 
with  him  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Harrowby,  at  once. 

"  Never." 

"  Invertebrate,"  murmured  the  older 
woman.     "  I  like  my  souls  embodied  !  " 

"  He  was  poor,"  said  Rose,  hotly  ;  "  he 
had  nothing  to  offer.  How  was  it  possi- 
ble to  run  away  ?  " 

"  Then  you  yourself  wondered  at  his 
weakness? 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  Why  have  you  such  ready — and  so 
many — excuses  for  him  ?  One  would 
have  answered  !  " 

Rose  blushed. 

"  I  should  have  refused  ..."  she 
stammered  ".  .  .  in  any  case." 

"  I  could  never  forgive  a  man,"  said 
Mrs.  Harrowby,  "  who  gave  me  no  op- 
portunity to  show  my  superior  virtue. 
He  was  a  very  dull  dog,  my  dear — a  very 
dull  dog.     If  it  were  not  for   the  temp- 


Mrs.  Hatrowby  is  Eloquent*  *95 

ters  like  Harry  Blythe,  we  should  never 
know  a  chaste  woman  from  a  gallant. 
We  owe  them  much.  How  could  I  feel 
the  paragon  of  wifely  honor  if  some 
twelve  libertines  had  not  plotted  my 
downfall?  " 

She  could  see  her  beauty — placid,  pale, 
ethereal — in  the  mirror.  And  she  smiled 
with  the  understanding  innocence  one 
might  suppose  lit  up  the  face  of  the  in- 
fant Pallas  Athene — had  that  goddess, 
let  it  be  said,  ever  been  an  infant. 

"  Forget  the  fellow,"  she  continued  ; 
"  forget  that  episode  of  gooseberry  wine 
and  honeysuckle  porches !  At  twenty 
we  long  for  love  ;  at  five-and-twenty  we 
look  for  companionship  ;  at  five-and- 
thirty  we  are  more  anxious  for  a  com- 
fortable environment.  Blythe  can  give 
you  a  home  and  a  position— those  things 
abide.  Mourn  in  white  garments,  dear 
Rose  ;  dry  your  tears  with  lace  !  Most 
of   our   fine    sentiments    come  from  the 


196  The  Herb-Moon. 

stomach — remember    that    always.     The 
soul  is  horridly  cold-blooded  !  " 

Then  she  went  into  the  oratory  which 
led  off  from  her  bedroom. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  Lady  Talks  Sense  and  Comedy  Looks 
Tearful* 

Ottley,  about  this  time,  was  flaming 
with  scarlet  posters  which  announced  a 
Liberal  Fete  to  be  opened  the  following 
afternoon  by 

The  Hon  Charles  Belleborough,  M.  P., 

in  the  grounds  of  "  Randalls." 

Edward  received  a  note  from  Mrs. 
Crecy  inviting  him  to  luncheon  "  before 
the  ceremony"  at  half-past  one. 

"Why  is  it,"  he  asked  himself,  "that 
we  cannot  gaze  with  due  appreciation  on 
a  hero  till  we  have  gorged  our  stomachs 
with  made  dishes  ?  " 

To    Mr.    Lawrence   and    Mr.    Sledges, 


i98  The  Herb-Moon. 

however,  he  spoke  like  a  good  citizen  of 
the  coming  Fete.  Such  things  brought 
all  classes  of  society  together ;  they 
amused  the  young  people ;  helped  the 
Liberal  Cause,  which,  after  all,  charlatan- 
ism, clap-trap  and  time-serving  apart,  was 
a  sound  one.  Read  history  :  forget  plat- 
forms !  Take  the  solid  result — not  the 
ephemeral  methods  of  obtaining  it.  If 
hypocrisy  succeeded — it  proved  that  the 
deceived  public  clung  to  ideals.  When 
cant  was  found  necessary,  it  meant  that 
voters  at  least  were  sincere.  He  had,  for 
some  reason,  lost  all  his  cynicism,  and  if 
he  barked  now — it  was  only  at  the  moon 
for  not  shining  all  day. 

When,  on  the  morrow,  he  was  ushered 
into  Mrs.  Crecy's  drawing-room,  Chloe 
and  a  young  man  were  sitting  by  the 
fireplace,  and,  as  Edward  entered,  the 
girl  was  laughing  with  affected  joyous- 
ness  at  her  visitor's  remarks.  She  ad- 
dressed him  as  Captain  Camelot. 


A  Lady  Talks  Sense.  199 

Belleborough,  the  Member  for  Ottley, 
who  stood  listening  to  Mr.  Crecy's  views 
on  Colonial  Industries,  was  a  stern  man 
who  commanded  an  immense  amount  of 
respect  and  was  regarded  with  unwilling 
awe.  He  had  neither  enemies  nor  friends  ; 
men  agreed  with  him  or  disagreed  with 
him,  and,  while  his  supporters  found  him 
blameless,  his  opponents  thought  him 
nothing  worse  than  dull.  His  conversa- 
tion that  day  at  luncheon  was  appropri- 
ate and  unmemorable.  The  guests  present 
were,  with  the  exceptions  of  Edward  and 
the  Captain,  Crecy's  own  relatives  who 
were  staying  at  "  Randalls  "  for  the  oc- 
casion. It  was  the  brewer's  wish  to  give 
the  entertainment  the  air  of  a  family 
party,  and,  if  trembling  silence  in  the 
women,  cautious  drinking  among  the 
men,  brand-new  dresses  on  the  one,  and 
settled  melancholy  in  the  other,  can  be 
said  to  indicate  the  careless  ease  of  a 
domestic    circle,     Charles    Belleborough 


200  The  Herb-Moon. 

and  his  daughter,  who  accompanied  him, 
had  certainly  every  reason  to  believe  that 
they  were  taken  to  the  very  heart  of 
their  host's  home-life.  When  the  meal 
was  ended,  the  ladies  adjourned  to  the 
drawing-room,  the  gentlemen  strolled 
laboriously  after  them,  and  the  servants 
rearranged  the  table  for  dinner,  in  order 
that  the  public,  now  promenading  out- 
side the  windows,  might  enjoy  the  spec- 
tacle of  Crecy's  plate,  crockery,  table-linen, 
and  cut-glass  set  out  in  the  most  correct 
manner. 

The  Town  Band  played  martial,  and 
the  Volunteer  Band  amorous  airs,  in 
turn ;  some  school  children  sang  (while 
Belleborough  concealed  but  unsuccess- 
fully his  patriotic  emotions)  "  Rule,  Brit- 
annia." Crecy  pressed  him  reverently  on 
the  arm  and  they  passed  out,  in  proces- 
sion, to  the  grounds,  where,  in  a  pink  tent 
set  apart  for  the  fashion  and  first  families 
of  Ottley,  he  took  a  red  velvet  chair  on  a 


A  Lady  Talks  Sense.  201 

little  platform  and  heard  himself  intro- 
duced as  the  coming  glory  of  his  country 
and  its  present  mainstay.  Amy,  his 
daughter,  sat  at  his  right  and  showed  no 
signs  of  hearing  the  loud  comments  of 
the  Ottley  gentlewomen  on  the  subject 
of  her  hat,  her  gown,  and  her  general  ap- 
pearance. A  few  condemned,  but  more 
approved,  the  simplicity  of  her  attire, 
which  made  no  lady  present  feel  herself 
dowdy  and  gave  most  of  them  a  pleasant 
sense  of  possessing  the  taste,  were  they 
in  her  position,  to  produce  a  far  more  im- 
posing effect.  As  her  garments  did  not, 
therefore,  excite  any  painful  or  envious 
comparisons,  but  on  the  contrary,  those 
which  were  most  solacing  and  charitable, 
the  audience  were  better  able  to  confine 
their  attention  to  Belleborough's  well-de- 
livered speech. 

Belleborough  had  made  his  name  for 
moral  orthodoxy,  and,  although  there  are 
always  a  certain  number  of  persons  who 


202  The  Herb-Moon. 

find  it  difficult  to  believe  that  any  one 
should  ever  be  in  earnest  except  when  he 
attacks  received  opinion,  the  Member  for 
Ottley  had  escaped,  in  an  age  of  general 
scepticism,  the  charge  of  hypocrisy.  He 
meant  what  he  said.  If  his  eloquence 
sounded,  on  some  occasions,  high-flown, 
it  was  because  the  times  were  easy-going, 
not  because  his  maxims  were  untried. 

The  Fete  was  declared  a  national  dem- 
onstration :  great  was  the  applause  and 
greater  the  embarrassment  of  those  who 
had  come  expecting  to  be  amused. 
The  local  photographer  applied  his  cam- 
era to  the  group ;  Mr.  Crecy  informed 
the  audience  that  there  were  Indian  jug- 
glers and  other  attractions  without,  and 
the  meeting  dispersed. 

Crecy  drove  the  Belleboroughs  to  the 
railway  station,  and,  after  their  departure, 
an  easier  merriment  settled  on  the  house- 
party.  Mrs.  Crecy  suggested  that  Chloe 
should     sing — at     which    point    Edward 


A  Lady  Talks  Sense  203 

realized,  to  his  chagrin,  that  he  had  been 
invited  solely  for  the  honor  of  playing 
the  heiress's  accompaniment.  The  Cap- 
tain's ravished  demeanor  during  her  song 
filled  the  organist  with  the  worst  appre- 
hensions ;  he  recognized  the  Wooer  in  his 
attitude,  and  the  Son-in-law  in  Mrs. 
Crecy's  smile.  He  found  it  impossible  to 
remain  in  their  society,  and,  making  an 
abrupt  adieu,  he  hastened  from  the 
house. 

Now  about  nine  o'clock  that  same 
evening,  Miss  Chloe  walked  toward  the 
cottage  of  Mrs.  Venus,  and  she  carried 
on  her  arm  a  basket  of  dainties  for  that 
deserted  woman.  Mrs.  Venus  lived  some 
two  hundred  yards  from  the  gate  of 
Wrestle's  Farm,  and  it  so  happened  that 
Edward,  as  Miss  Chloe  passed,  stood 
there  waiting — perhaps  for  the  carrier. 

"  What  a  surprise ! "  exclaimed  Miss 
Crecy,  in  tones  of  great  astonishment. 

"  I  feel  none,"  replied  Edward,  grimly. 


204  The  Herb-Moon* 

"  I  am  so  distressed,"  said  she,  "  about 
poor  Mrs.  Venus." 

"Your  sympathies,"  he  said,  with  a 
mocking- smile,  "  are  wide." 

She  looked  away. 

"  Don't  be  cruel,"  she  whimpered. 

"  Oh,  Chloe  !  " 

He  clenched  his  hands  and  grew  pale. 

"  Allow  me,"  he  said,  with  a  false  air 
of  self-possession,  "  to  take  that  basket !  " 

She  gave  it  up  and  put  back  her  veil. 
She  needed  all  her  beauty  at  that  moment. 

"Can  I  disobey  my  parents?"  she 
asked.  "  Shall  I  break  my  mother's 
heart?" 

"  You  are  so  clever,"  said  Edward,  still 
bitter,  "  that  in  any  case  you  will  cer- 
tainly come  to  grief.  For  it  takes  a  born 
fool  to  drive  a  good  bargain  with  life." 

"You  never  give  a  direct  answer," 
said  Chloe ;  "  you  are  always  in  the 
clouds!" 

"  I  have  been  walking  on  earth,  at  all 


A  Lady  Talks  Sense*  205 

events,  for  the  last  fortnight !  .  .  .  Do 
you  intend  to  marry  that  man  ?  " 

"  Give  me  time  to  refuse  him  !  " 

"You  are  considering  the  question? 
Good  God  !  " 

"  I  will  not  accept  his  offer — against 
your  wish.  Nor  can  I  marry  you — 
against  my  father's.  I  will  remain  as  I 
am  always  ...  if  you  think  ...  a  soli- 
tary, unloved  existence  would  suit  me !  " 

She  sighed,  drew  off  her  gloves,  and  laid 
a  cool  palm  on  Edward's  trembling  arm. 

"  We  could  always  be  great  friends," 
said  she. 

"Never." 

"  If  you  are  a  genius — I  am  not  sure 
that  you  ought  to  marry — even  me  !  " 

"  You  did  not  talk  in  this  strain,"  said 
Edward,  "  when  we  first  met !  " 

"Your  fascination  overruled  my  rea- 
son." 

"  Oh,"  he  cried,  breaking  away  from 
her  touch,  "  how  happy  we  were  !  " 


206  The  Herb-Moon. 

"  But  so  unusual,"  said  Chloe,  half 
shocked.  Beer  and  the  conventions  had 
been  poured  out  so  liberally  on  her  soul 
that  Romance  could  but  float  there  like  a 
water-lily  on  an  unmoving  pool. 

"  I  always  knew,"  she  continued,  "  that 
it  could  lead  to  nothing.  You  see, 
Edward,  I  am  an  only  child.  If  I  had 
sisters — brothers — who  could  make  bril- 
liant matches,  I  might  permit  myself  an 
experiment.  But  all  my  father's  hopes 
are  fixed  on  me.  I  dare  not  fail  him.  I 
love  you — believe  me,  I  love  you  very 
dearly.  If  you  had  any  sort  of  position 
to  offer  me — I  would  marry  you  !  " 

"  That  will  do,"  said  he  ;  "  no  more ! 
Take  the  Captain  !  " 

She  wept. 

"  One  must  be  reasonable,"  she  said ; 
"  one  cannot  re-make  the  world." 

"  Every  genius  that  is  born,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "gives  the  world  a  new  turn! 
You  are  servile." 


A  Lady  Talks  Sense.  207 

"  I  never  claimed  to  be  a  genius,"  said 
she ;  "  I  merely  wish  to  do  my  duty." 

"The  duty  of  a  beautiful  woman,"  he 
answered,  "  is  to  inspire  hearts — not  to 
preach  sordid  maxims.  If  I  had  any 
sort  of  position  to  offer  you — you  would 
take  me !  Merciful  heavens !  Am  I  a 
man  ?  You  don't  want  a  husband,  but 
some  creature  who  will  provide  you  with 
a  visiting  list !  " 

"  Do  I  care  what  you  are  ? "  cried 
Chloe ;  "  I  know  your  gifts !  But  my 
father  is  practical :  it  is  on  his  account, 
not  mine,  that  I  wish  you  had  worldly 
success." 

"  Has  Camelot  proposed  to  you?" 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Oh,  Chloe,"  murmured  the  unhappy 
young  man,  "  it  is  not  for  me  to  say  that 
he  loves  you  solely  for  your  money.  I 
can  well  believe  that  he  loves  you  for 
yourself.     You  are  so  pretty." 

They  had  now  reached  the  cottage  of 


208  The  Herb-Moon. 

Mrs.  Venus,  but  the  windows  were  dark, 
and  the  widow  had  evidently  gone  to 
bed. 

"  I  can  come  again  in  the  morning," 
said  Chloe,  and  she  sat  down  on  a  pile  of 
stones  by  the  road.  Edward,  standing 
by  her  side,  looked  upon  her,  with  aching 
temples.  In  all  true  love-stories  there  is 
always  some  inequality  of  heart  or  for- 
tune which,  sooner  or  later,  tempts  one 
soul  to  despair,  and  the  other  to  false 
pride.  Chloe  had  reached  the  moment 
of  discontent. 

"  What  would  your  father  call  a  posi- 
tion f  "  said  Edward. 

"  Parliament,"  said  Chloe,  briefly  ;  "  the 
Army ;  the  Diplomatic  Service.  He 
doesn't  think  so  much  of  the  Bar  and  the 
Church." 

"  Give  me  a  little  time,  then,"  said  he  ; 
"  I  have  some  friends  who  might  ...  I 
will  never  again  think  of  music  ...  I 
will  go  to  London  to-morrow  ...  I  can 


A  Lady  Talks  Sense*  209 

be  worldly  ...  I  can  get  a  Secretary- 
ship .  .  .  give  me  time." 

"How  long?"  said  the  maiden. 

"  Two  or  three  days.  .  .  .  You  have 
reason  on  your  side,  dearest.  ...  A 
country  organist!  A  choir-master!  .  .  . 
What  presumption  on  my  part.  .  .  . 
What  is  Art  compared  with  Life  ?  A 
dead  letter.  Let  me  live  first.  I  will 
make  a  large  income.  How  much  do 
you  want  ?  I  would  take  nothing  from 
your  father — not  a  penny." 

"  Could  you  make  four  thousand  a 
year?" 

"  Easily !  "  said  the  genius. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Mr.  Belleborough,"  said  she,  "  gives 
his  secretary  two  pounds  a  week  !  " 

This  was  discouraging. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Edward,  getting 
pale  ;  "  I  have  schemes." 

"  What  sort  of  schemes  ?  "  asked  Chloe. 

(t  Why  dissipate  my  energy  in  talking 


210  The  Herb-Moon. 

about  them?"  said  the  youth;  "give 
me  time — that  is  all  I  ask." 

"  Whatever  happens,"  she  said,  "  you 
know  one  thing — I  love  you." 

"Angel!" 

"  No,"  she  said,  serenely,  "  I  am  not  an 
angel.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  considered 
one.  I  am  a  sensible  girl  who  has  per- 
mitted herself  to  behave  rather  foolishly ! 
But  I  am  devoted  to  you,  dear  Edward, 
and  neither  time  nor  distance  can  lessen 
my  affection  for  you." 

She  spoke  primly.  Has  she  a  heart? 
thought  Edward.  He  dived  into  her 
eyes  with  his  own  blindfolded — and  felt 
no  chill. 

"  Enigma  !  "  he  said. 

Chloe  took  his  hand,  and  pressed  it  to 
her  cheek. 

"  We  are  talking  sense,"  she  said,  softly, 
"you  must  remember  that  we  are  talking 
sense.  It  isn't  so  pleasant  as  .  .  .  the 
other!" 


A  Lady  Talks  Sense.  211 

"What  other?" 

"  Non-sense,  dearest." 

"  Our  long  walks  .  .  .  our  talks  .  .  . 
our  sympathy,  were  those  nonsense?" 
cried  Edward  ;  "  did  you  not  say  that 
our  souls  were  predestined  for  each 
other?" 

"  Of  course,"  she  answered  ;  "  our  souls 
got  on  extraordinarily  well.  But  if  you 
remember,  I  never  once  said  that  we 
ought  to  be  engaged !  To  begin  with,  I 
do  not  approve  of  long  engagements !  " 

"  Herb-Moons!  "  said  Edward,  to  him- 
self, "  Herb-Moons  !  " 

"  You  are  so  odd,"  said  Chloe ;  "  you 
use  such  strange  expressions.  Poetry — 
after  tea — at  a  garden-party  is  appropri- 
ate enough,  because  the  weather  is  usually 
fine  and  one  is  in  the  humor  to  say  things 
that  sound  well !  " 

"  High-minded  small  talk  !  "  said  Ed- 
ward, with  a  cutting  smile.  "  We  have 
met  many  times,  however,  since  that  gar- 


212  The  Herb-Moon. 

den-party — in  rain  and  at  twilight :  in 
the  cemetery  and  by  the  old  barn  !  I 
thought  you  were  in  earnest  always." 

"  I  was,"  she  replied — "  I  was  in  ear- 
nest. And  I  am  in  earnest  now.  But 
may  I  never  change  my  mood  ?  The 
past  was  all  Spring :  it  is  time  to  be  seri- 
ous and  Autumnal !  " 

Edward  grasped  at  her  excuse. 

"  No  doubt,"  said  he,  "  delicious,  in- 
consistent April  is  as  much  in  earnest  as 
grave  November !  She  lasts  as  long ! 
she  rules  the  earth  her  thirty  days ! " 

Miss  Crecy  smiled  wearily.  She  could 
endure  Edward's  fantastic  utterances  so 
long  only  as  they  were  addressed  to  her 
own  eyes.  Delicious  April  sounded  too 
much  like  some  other  woman  to  be  a 
pleasing  figure  of  speech. 

"  There  is  a  time,"  said  she,  "when  one 
must  be  business-like.  People  fall  in  love, 
marry,  and  postpone  the  sober  facts  of 
life  for  discussion — till  after  the  wedding- 


A  Lady  Talks  Sense.  213 

journey  !  And  because  the  facts  are 
sober  and  have  to  be  discussed  seriously, 
they  are  called  a  disillusion  !  How  much 
better  it  is  to  plunge  into  business  mat- 
ters first  and  know  where  you  are — be- 
fore you  start  on  your  honeymoon  !  I 
should  not  love  a  man  less  because  I 
thought  his  means  insufficient  to  marry 
on,  nor  should  I  love  him  more  because 
the  settlements  were  wholly  satisfactory. 
I  am  very  sane,  Edward." 

"  You  are,  indeed,"  he  replied. 

"You  see,"  she  continued,  in  calm 
tones,  "  your  pride  is  so  great  that  it 
would  break  your  heart  to  be  absolutely 
dependent  on  my  fortune.  I  feel  this 
strongly.  On  the  other  hand,  I  have  not 
the  courage  to  forego  my  fortune  and  live 
on  what  you  could  earn  for  me.  It  would 
preserve  your  self-respect  at  the  cost  of 
my  health.  And  what  is  worse  than  an  in- 
valid wife  ?  I  have  been  reading  about 
geniuses  lately.     They  do  not  answer." 


214  The  Herb-Moon. 

"  When  you  talk  like  that,"  he  cried, 
"  I  could  almost  hate  you  !  " 

"  Men  always  detest  plain-speaking," 
she  said. 

"  If  you  were  not  beautiful,  you  would 
be  inexcusable  !  " 

"  I  am  determined  to  use  my  brains," 
she  replied ;  "  and  surely,  when  I  speak 
so  reasonably  about  money  matters,  you 
can  believe  me,  when  I  add  in  the  same 
breath  that  you  are  the  one  being  in  the 
world  I  love !  If  I  do  not  talk  in  the 
usual  false  strain,  it  is  not  because  I  rate 
sentiment  too  low,  but  because  I  rate  it 
before  all  things  !  " 

"  It  cannot  be  bought,"  said  Edward, 
»  "  it  can  only  be  lost  !  In  this  conversa- 
tion we  have  lost  it  for  ever !  " 

Chloe  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 
Why  could  he  not  be  sane  ?  why  this  un- 
willingness to  face  life  as  a  house-holder  ? 
She  rose  from  the  heap  of  stones  and 
stood  up  beside  him. 


A  Lady  Talks  Sense.  215 

"Edward,"  said  she,  " one  of  us,  of 
course,  must  be  wrong.  But  if  I  am  too 
worldly,  you  are  too  rash.5' 

She  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  with 
that  deliberate  impetuosity  which  made 
her  recklessness  as  cold  as  her  common 
sense. 

"  I  love  you,  dear,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
will  wait  ...  a  few  days.  Good-night. 
You  must  leave  me  now  because  I  hear 
the  ponies." 

She  had  ordered  the  groom  to  call  for 
her  with  the  chaise  at  Mrs.  Venus's  cot- 
tage. 

Edward  kissed  her  miserably  and  stole 
away  as  the  carriage  loomed  in  the  dis- 
tance. His  heart  was  writhing.  These 
secret  meetings  and  stealings  away  filled 
him  with  self-contempt.  He  crept  home 
to  fling  his  frantic  mood  at  Heaven  and 
his  uneasy  body  on  a  bed.  He  cursed 
his  weakness ;  blamed  the  whole  system 
of   creation ;    thought   of    Chloe's   eyes ; 


216  The  Herb-Moon. 

remembered    the  fragrance  of   her  face  ; 
brooded  on  ways  of  suicide. 

It  is  an  orthodox  doctrine — and  a  use- 
ful— that  for  every  scene  of  life  there  are 
invisible  spectators — an  audience  of  good 
and  evil  spirits.  We  may  believe,  there- 
fore, that  the  air  during  the  walk  to  Mrs. 
Venus's  cottage,  and  now  in  Edward's 
room,  was  thick  with  sulphur  and  myrrh, 
and  the  space  crowded  with  hoofs  and 
wings.  We  may  go  even  further  and 
presume  that  on  this  occasion  it  was  un- 
usually dense,  for,  no  doubt,  the  word 
had  gone  round  among  the  ministers  of 
grace  and  the  agents  of  destruction  that 
two  young  people  in  love  were  about  to 
meet,  in  the  common  unhappy  circum- 
stances, and  about  to  talk  in  the  usual 
lunatic  strain.  Love,  however,  has  no 
sameness  for  the  immortals :  it  is  their 
current  coin  ;  and  just  as  the  sober  among 
us  reserve  our  best  attention  for  the 
daily   money-market    and    the    seventh- 


A  Lady  Talks  Sense  217 

daily  sermon  on  Unworldliness — our  lit- 
tle angels  and  our  little  devils  look  eagerly 
at  the  Love-Mart.  For  there  are  the  be- 
ginnings of  all  things — spiritual  and 
earthy. 

While  Edward  was  tossing  on  his  bed, 
the  angels  looked  at  the  fiends.  The 
leader  of  the  evil  ones — who  was  gentle- 
manlike, and  carried  a  volume  of  poetry 
behind  his  big  ear — observed :  "  He 
shows  great  inexperience.  One  of  you 
might  have  prompted  him.  There  is 
gross  carelessness  somewhere." 

"  This  is  Comedy's  interference,"  said 
his  colleague  on  the  right ;  "  she  is  a  nui- 
sance." 

He  shot  a  glance  at  the  Muse  who  sat 
opposite.  She  had  in  her  eyes  eternal 
tears  which  never  fell.  She  was  too 
nearly  human  to  be  completely  satisfied 
with  her  work. 

"  I  have  great  respect  for  your  power, 
Comedy,"  said  the  first  fiend,  "  but  you 


218  The  Herb-Moon. 

lack  logic.  And  you  will  not  understand 
that  the  passions  are  serious.  Here  to- 
day was  an  opportunity  wasted.  Every 
time  you  step  into  a  love-scene,  we  either 
find  virtue  triumphant  or  common  sense 
made  to  sound  absurd !  You  inspire 
plain,  indelicate  language,  and  are  as 
truthful  as  our  vulgar  friend — the  Record- 
ing Angel !  " 

Then  his  followers  clattered  away,  plot- 
ting malice  and  singing  pretty  songs 
about  life.  But  Comedy  and  the  good 
spirits  remained,  looking  anxious. 


CHAPTER  XV. 
The  Question  of  Edward's  Soul. 

THE  next  afternoon,  Rose  was  on  her 
knees  in  the  drawing-room  at  Cavendish 
Square,  darning  a  small  rent  in  the  old 
brocade  of  a  Louis  Seize  chair,  when  the 
door  was  suddenly  thrown  open  and  Ed- 
ward Banish  announced. 

"  Edward  !  "  she  exclaimed  :  "  I  hardly 
knew  you  without  your  beard !  What 
has  brought  you  to  London?" 

"  Many  things,"  said  he,  sitting  down. 
"  I  have  much  on  my  mind.  You  are 
looking  well  and  seem  in  comfortable  sur- 
roundings. Did  Robsart  come  here  be- 
fore he  left?" 

"  No,"  said  she,  getting  pale  ;  "  I  wrote 
him  good-bye,  but  I  did  not  see  him. 
Tell  me  about  yourself." 


220  The  Herb-Moon. 

He  hesitated. 

"  I  am  in  danger,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  of 
growing  cynical.  I  doubt  everything  and 
everyone." 

"  That  means  that  you  can  no  longer  be- 
lieve in  yourself !  "  said  his  sister,  gravely. 

"  Oh,  I  was  sincere  enough,"  he 
groaned. 

He  blurted  out  his  story ;  the  sudden 
loves  of  Chloe  and  himself  ;  their  clandes- 
tine meetings  ;  the  arrival  on  the  scene  of 
Lord  Rendlewick's  brother  ;  the  heiress's 
changed  tone;  their  last  interview.  It 
was  a  breathless  tragi-comic  history. 

"  I  feel  it !  "  he  exclaimed,  at  the  end  : 
"  it  is  a  genuine  emotion.  This  is  not  a 
question  of  liver  or  nerves  or  idleness. 
It  has  gone  to  my  heart.  I  am  broken  ! 
I  am  destroyed  !  " 

"  Poor  child  !  "  said  Rose  ;  "  poor  boy  !  " 

"  I  love  her,"  he  said,  wofully  ;  "  my 
life  was  at  her  feet.  And  yet  she  can 
talk  like  a  solicitor!  " 


The  Question  of  Edward's  Soul.  221 

"  If  it  has  made  you  bitter,  it  was  not 
love,"  said  Rose. 

"  I  must  say  what  I  think.  She  has  no 
soul !  She  is  all  ambition — petty  ambi- 
tion.    I  despise  her." 

His  pale  countenance  belied  this  senti- 
ment. 

Rose,  in  spite  of  her  grief  at  the  poor 
fellow's  disappointment,  felt  a  quiet, 
motherly  satisfaction  in  the  thought  that 
this  experience  was,  after  all,  the  best 
thing  that  could  befall  him.  Love  had 
touched  his  life.  It  could  never  now  be 
fruitless. 

"  She  has  made  me  desperate,"  he  con- 
tinued :  "  I  have  decided  to  get  on  in  the 
world  !  I  would  sell  my  soul  if  I  could 
find  the  devil.  But  he  seems  to  get  as 
many  as  he  wants  now — for  nothing  !  " 

"  What  are  your  plans  ?  "  asked  Rose, 
quietly;  "at  present  they  seem  mostly 
dust  and  sulphur!  " 

"  I  thought  of   Mrs.    Harrowby,"  said 


222  The  Herb-Moon. 

Edward  ;  "  she  has  influence.  I  have  al- 
ways been  too  proud  to  ask  her  help,  but 
now  I  am  prepared  to  swallow  any- 
thing!" 

"  Yet  you  tell  me,"  said  Rose,  "  that 
you  are  in  love !  Dear  Edward,  if  you 
are  false  to  your  ideals,  life,  in  turn,  will 
be  false  to  you." 

"  What  are  the  Ideals?"  he  asked,  sav- 
agely ;  "  will  they  keep  a  decent  roof  over 
my  head?  will  they  give  me  the  wife 
I  want?  will  they  pay  for  her  gowns 
and  my  ambition  ?  will  they  earn  me  so 
much  as  one  night's  easy  sleep?  I  am 
sick  of  swearing  by  phantoms." 

Rose  disregarded  his  petulance.  She 
had  suffered  too  much  to  be  astonished 
at  despair. 

"  I  cannot  feel,"  she  said,  "  that  Chloe 
Crecy  has  behaved  so  cruelly  as  you  im- 
agine. She  has  not  accepted  this  other 
man — she  merely  contemplates  him  ;  and 
that   may  mean  little !     But   you   could 


The  Question  of  Edward's  Soul.  223 

not  expect  her  to  marry  you  in  your 
present  circumstances.  Her  parents 
would  certainly — perhaps  rightly — disap- 
prove of  such  a  step." 

"  I  see  !  I  understand  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
"  all  good  women  are  mercenary." 

"All  good  women  are  sane." 

"  Sane  ?  "  he  repeated,  "  that  is  Chloe's 
eternal  word." 

"  Then  she  will  wait  for  you." 

"Wait  for  me?  How  long  does  that 
mean  ?  Why  can't  people  marry  while 
they  love  each  other?  When  I  have 
moiled  and  toiled  all  the  enthusiasm  out 
of  my  life,  when  I  shall  have  schooled 
myself  to  postpone  my  bride  for  some  ten 
years — I  shall  be  in  precisely  the  state  of 
mind  to  remain  a  bachelor!  " 

"  If  that  is  so,"  said  Rose,  "  how  fortu- 
nate for  both  of  you  that  you  cannot 
bind  yourselves  for  eternity  on  the  im- 
pulse of  this  mood  !  " 

"  I   have   not   your  slow  blood,"    said 


224  The  Herb-Moon* 

Edward.  Then  he  seemed  to  remember 
her  changed  circumstances. 

"  I  meant  to  write  to  you,"  he  began, 
awkwardly,  "  about  Arden.  But  I  could 
find  nothing  to  say.  It  was  too  painful. 
I  hate  pain." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Rose,  simply. 

"  He's  dead,  and  you  have  your  life 
before  you.  The  whole  trouble  has 
ended  much  better  than  I  could  have 
hoped.  Let  us  talk  no  more  about  it. 
.  .  .  You  asked  to  know  my  plans. 
Somebody  must  want  a  secretary  .... 
I  think  of  Parliament.  .  .  .  After  all, 
Father  was  destined  for  a  great  public 
career.  .  .  .  He  made  his  mark.  .  .  . 
Had  he  lived  two  years  longer  he  would 
have  been  Solicitor-General.  Every  one 
says  so.  Why  not  leave  Art  and  Music 
to  foreigners  ?  Vaguely  ...  I  felt  as 
much  .  .  .  even  at  Cambridge.  Chloe 
may  be  right — you  yourself  grant  as  much. 
I   shall  appeal  to  Mrs.  Harrowby.     She 


The  Question,  of  Edward's  Soul.  225 

wanted  to  help  Father;  she  can  help  me. 
They  say  I  grow  more  like  him  every 
day." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Rose ;  "  the  resem- 
blance is  astounding." 

She  was  troubled  at  the  thought  of 
Mrs.  Harrowby's  possible  influence  on 
Edward.  Would  he  not  take  her  worldli- 
ness  too  seriously  ?  Would  he  under- 
stand that  her  vulgarity  came  rather 
from  egoism  than  coarse  feelings  ? 

At  that  moment,  however,  Mrs.  Har- 
rowby  entered.  As  she  caught  sight  of 
Edward,  she  tottered  and  must  have 
fallen  if  Rose  had  not  rushed  forward  to 
support  her. 

"  Banish,"  she  said,  faintly  ;  "  Banish 
all  over  again  !  "  and  she  burst  into  tears 
— the  slow,  spare  tears  of  the  aged. 

The  young  man  smiled  sympathy  and 
admiration.  His  figure  was  his  father's; 
his  clothes  were  shabby.  Mrs.  Har- 
rowby,     observing    them,     resolved,    on 


226  The  Herb-Moon. 

the  spot,  to  allow  him  a  thousand  a 
year. 

"  I  have  not  seen  you,  my  boy,"  said 
she,  "  since  you  were  a  child  of  three ! 
In  those  days  you  resembled  your 
mother.  I  never  admired  her.  But  you 
have  grown  a  handsome  fellow." 

He  kissed  her  hand.  His  father  had 
certainly  loved  this  lady,  but  he  had 
lacked  the  courage  to  face  her  arrogance. 
Now  that  she  was  old  and  weak,  however, 
it  was  hard  to  believe  that  she  had  ever 
been  too  terrible  to  woo  in  earnest. 

"  Why  are  you  in  London  ? "  she 
asked  ;  "  you  look  melancholy." 

He  blushed. 

"  A  love  affair  ?  "  said  she. 

He  sighed. 

"  Tell  your  story,"  said  Rose. 

He  told  it— let  it  be  known,  too,  hon- 
estly. At  its  close  he  looked  straight  at 
Mrs.  Harrowby. 

"  I  thought  of    you   at   once,"   he  ob- 


The  Question  of  Edward's  Soul.  227 

served ;  "  I  felt  sure  you  would  help 
me." 

"  In  what  way  ?  "  said  the  old  woman. 

"  By  your  influence." 

"  I  need  all  my  political  influence  for 
my  nephew,  Harry  Blythe.  I  can  do 
nothing  for  you  in  that  direction." 

This  was  a  blow.  He  lost  his  color. 
But  Mrs.  Harrowby  smiled  pleasantly. 

"  Stick  to  your  Music,"  said  she ;  "  re- 
main a  genius !     But  give  up  that  girl." 

"  I  cannot." 

"You  really  want  to  marry  her?" 

He  bowed  his  head. 

"  Would  you  take  her  without  a  far- 
thing?" 

"Gladly." 

She  paused  ;  then  turned  to  Rose. 

"  I  believe,"  said  she,  "  that  the  boy 
means  it.     He  is  absurd,  but  I  like  him." 

"  He  is  in  too  great  a  hurry,"  said 
Rose,  smiling  sadly.  "  Love  is  nothing 
if  not  patient." 


228  The  Herb-Moon. 

"  I  abhor  a  patient  lover,"  said  Mrs. 
Harrowby. 

Edward  felt  encouraged  and  shot  a 
defiant  glance  at  his  painful  sister. 

"Hang  up  philosophy,"  he  sighed, 
"  unless  philosophy  can  make  a  Juliet  !  " 

Mrs.  Harrowby  clapped  her  hands. 

"  Hang  up  philosophy,"  said  Rose, 
drily,  "  and  you  will  end  by  hanging 
yourself." 

"  Listen  !  "  observed  Mrs.  Harrowby, 
"  listen  !  my  dove  begins  to  talk  like  an 
owl.     What  has  come  over  you,  Rose?  " 

"  I  feel  that  you  are  advising  Edward 
badly,"  she  replied,  with  rising  color : 
"  I  know  his  disposition.  A  month  ago 
he  hated  all  women  and  thought  mar- 
riage odious.  Now  he  is  dying  for  a  girl 
he  has  seen  a  dozen  times,  and  swears  he 
cannot  exist  without  a  wife  !  I  distrust 
these  violent  changes.  These  young 
people  who  quote  Romeo  and  Juliet 
remember  the  Ballroom  and  the  Balcony, 


The  Question  of  Edward's  Soul.  229 

but  they  are  by  no  means  prepared  to 
follow  their  heroic  patterns  to  the  tomb." 

"Rose,"  said  Mrs.  Harrowby,  "  has 
spent  her  life  studying  last  acts !  " 

"  I  like  to  know  the  end  of  a  story," 
said  Rose  ;  "  the  end  is  everything  !  " 

"  But  the  beginning  is  important,  too," 
said  Mrs.  Harrowby  with  a  certain  pee- 
vishness ;  "  this  poor  boy  is  merely  anx- 
ious to  begin  ! " 

"  Is  he  working  ?  "  asked  Rose. 

"  How  can  I  work,"  said  the  young 
man,  angrily,  "with  a  mind  distraught?" 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Harrowby, 
"  how  can  he?" 

"  My  life  is  in  disorder,"  he  continued  ; 
"  there  is  a  calculating  calm  ...  a  delib- 
erate endurance  about  Rose  which  is — to 
me — as  inexplicable  as  it  is  annoying !  " 

Both  women  laughed — as  most  women 
do  when  patience  is  mistaken  for  want 
of  feeling. 

"  Does    your   Chloe    believe   in    your 


230  The  Herb-Moon. 

genius?"  asked  Mrs.  Harrowby,  drying 
her  eyes. 

"  She  would  like  it  more  generally 
recognized,"  said  Edward,  with  some 
bitterness. 

"  Every  girl  likes  to  see  her  choice 
justified,"  replied  Mrs.  Harrowby  ;  "  that 
is  natural  enough." 

"  But,"  said  Rose,  "  she  cannot  expect 
him  to  start  where  other  men — after 
years  of  suffering,  endeavor,  and  hard 
work — are  leaving  off." 

In  spite  of  her  apparent  severity,  her 
heart  was  on  Edward's  side.  She  would 
have  liked — even  against  her  own  better 
judgment — a  generous  recklessness  on 
Chloe  Crecy's  part.  There  is  always 
something  irresistibly  touching — if  dam- 
nable— about  an  indiscreet  marriage.  One 
condemns  the  folly  but  adores  the  faith 
of  young,  unquestioning  passion.  It  will 
toss  away  the  great,  grim,  heavy  world  as 
though  it  were  an  air-ball ! 


The  Question  of  Edward's  Soul.  231 

"  Dear,"  said  Rose,  in  a  softer  tone, 
"  this  is  your  Test.  You  must  bear  it. 
If  you  are  so  ready  to  give  up  your 
music — which  you  have  again  and  again 
assured  me  is  all  that  you  live  for — you 
will  be  as  willing,  later  on,  to  sacrifice 
Chloe  for  some  one  or  something  else 
which  may  seem,  for  an  instant,  more 
desirable.  Music  is,  unquestionably,  your 
gift.  Be  grateful  for  it.  Public  life  is 
often  demoralizing:  a  purely  domestic 
life  may  make  one  narrow-minded:  an 
artistic  life  is  perhaps  the  noblest.  Be- 
cause— whether  its  emotions  endure  or 
perish — while  they  endure  they  are  at 
least  inspiring.  And  the  moment  they 
cease  to  be  inspiring,  you  cease  to  be  an 
artist !  " 

Mrs.  Harrowby  opened  her  eyes. 

"Our  little  Rosie,"  said  she,  "is  be- 
ginning to  show  her  spirit.  That's  good 
advice,  Edward :  I  would  never  have 
given   it  myself ;  but   I  know   it's  good. 


232  The  Herb-Moon. 

Be  patient,  and  grateful,  and  industrious, 
and  if  Chloe  won't  love  you,  God  will ! " 

"  But  if  Chloe  doesn't  love  you," 
added  Rose,  smiling,  "you  must,  never- 
theless, always  love  Chloe." 

"  That's  tame  !  "  said  Mrs.  Harrowby. 

"  That's  true  love,"  said  Rose. 

"  Pshaw  ! "  exclaimed  the  older  woman, 
with  swimming  eyes.  Her  heart  was  on 
the  rack,  because  of  Edward's  resem- 
blance to  his  father. 

"There  is  no  reason,"  she  said,  "why 
the  boy  should  bury  himself  at  Ottley. 
We  must  find  him  work  in  London. 
Does  he  teach  ?  does  he  compose  ?  does  he 
play  the  organ  well  enough  for  a  rich  par- 
ish ?  could  he  write  a  few  pretty  songs?  " 

"No,"  said  he,  "but  I  have  published 
one  act  of  a  tragic  opera." 

"  Play  it,"  said  Mrs.  Harrowby,  point- 
ing amiably  to  the  piano ;  "  I  don't  want 
to  hear  the  whole  thing — I  can  judge  by 
the  tenor's  first  solo!  " 


The  Question  of  Edward's  Soul.  233 

He  seated  himself  at  the  piano  and 
sang  melodiously  a  thrilling  air.  Mrs. 
Harrowby  was  delighted. 

"  I  can  imagine  the  orchestra,"  she 
exclaimed,  "  wild,  trembling  violins,  and 
now  and  then  the  flute !  Ravishing ! 
And  introduce  a  harp  when  the  words 
are  Platonic  !  Delicious !  My  dear  Rose, 
he  is  brilliant !  " 

She  kept  the  young  man  at  the  piano 
for  the  next  two  hours  ;  she  promised  to 
lead  all  London  to  his  feet ;  she  talked 
of  glory  and  fame  till  he  saw — in  a  pro- 
phetic vision — his  own  monument  in 
Westminster  Abbey.  And  his  eyes  grew 
moist  at  the  statuesque  idea.  The  laurel 
on  some  brows  soon  turns  into  the  Lotus 
flower.  Edward  had  too  indolent  a  na- 
ture to  support  the  responsibility  of  an 
early  success. 

"  I  will  give  a  party,"  said  Mrs.  Har- 
rowby. "  I  will  ask  all  the  great  ama- 
teurs to   meet  you — Lady  Harrian,  and 


234  The  Herb-Moon. 

Gerald  Arbour,  and  Mrs.  Van  Cuyp — 
every  one.  You  shall  be  a  celebrity ! 
Tell  your  Chloe  that !  " 

"  How  easy  it  sounds,"  said  Rose,  "  all 
fame  and  no  work.  No,  dear  Edward, 
you  must  go  abroad,  live  very  simply, 
and  study ! " 

"You  expect  a  man  to  think  as  though 
he  had  no  body,"  said  Edward,  "and  to 
act  as  though  he  had  no  soul !  Mrs. 
Harrowby  understands  me — you  don't ! 
I  need  encouragement,  sympathy  .  .  ." 

"  And  applause,"  added  Mrs.  Harrowby. 

"  Appreciation,"  he  suggested,  as  a 
meeker  word. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  the  older  lady ; 
"  he  is  not  at  all  the  sort  of  genius  for 
six  devoted  friends  and  a  chimney  cor- 
ner !     Rose  is  so  austere  !  " 

Poor  Rose  reproached  herself  for  being 
harsh.  Why  should  she  always  be  forced 
to  act  and  speak  in  direct  opposition  to 
her     indulgent — all    too     indulgent — in- 


The  Question  of  Edward's  Soul.  235 

stincts?  How  much  pleasanter  it  would 
have  been  to  sit  there,  in  silence,  gra- 
ciously inactive  while  Edward  stained 
his  spirit  with  degrading  hopes  !  Philos- 
ophy is  an  amusement  to  those  who  feel 
nothing,  and  death  to  those  who  feel  too 
much.  Rose  had  always  felt  too  keenly, 
and  the  constant  war  of  reason  against 
her  passionate  ease-loving  nature  made 
her,  she  thought,  often  seem  heartless 
when  she  was  merely  heart-broken. 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  with  a  forced  smile, 
"  that  I  have  a  fatal  passion  for  excel- 
lence in  others!  " 

"  You  are  a  dear  creature,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Harrowby,  in  a  great  gust  of  affec- 
tion ;  "  you  are  quite  right  and  I  am 
quite  wrong,  and  if  Edward  has  a  grain  of 
common  sense  he  will  say  the  same !  " 

The  young  man  was  bewildered.  He 
began  to  comprehend  his  father's  reluc- 
tance to  become  one  flesh  with  a  being  so 
various  as  Paulina  Harrowby.  There 
was  no  security  in  her  presence. 


236  The  Herb-Moon. 

"  Then  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  " 
he  exclaimed. 

"  Work ! "  said  both  women  in  a 
breath. 

"  And  Chloe?  "  said  he,  "what  about 
Chloe?" 

"  Be  faithful,"  said  Rose. 

"  Look  about  you  ! "  advised  Mrs. 
Harrowby :  "  she  may  be  charming,  but 
she  is  not  helpless  enough  to  please  me. 
I  think  a  woman  should  be  helpless. 
It  moves  a  man's  heroic  instinct.  Al- 
ways be  heroic,  Edward." 

"  I  will,"  he  said,  yawning  from  sheer 
exhaustion. 

"  But  the  best  of  all,  dear  boy,  is  to 
avoid  women  altogether,"  she  continued. 
"  The  strong  man  thinks  of  other 
things ! " 

He  rose  from  the  piano-stool,  and,  too 
weary  to  be  otherwise  than  natural, 
dropped  himself,  as  it  were,  on  the  easiest 
chair  in  the  room. 


The  Question  of  Edward's  Soul.  237 

"  Then  I  am  to  return  to  Ottley,"  said 
he,  "  and  tell  Chloe  that— that " 

"  That  you  would  be  most  false  to  her 
by  being  false  to  your  work,"  said  Rose. 
"  Be  strong,  Edward." 

The  tired  boy  burst  into  tears.  God, 
the  angels,  and  women  know  that  even 
the  hardest  of  men  cannot  escape  the  ne- 
cessity of  weeping.  And  Edward  was 
not  hard :  no  musician  could  be. 

"  Am  I  to  see  her  .  .  .  every  day," 
said  he,  "  with  that  man  ?  What  do  you 
think  I  am  made  of?  If  I  had  my  way  I 
would  shoot  him !  Oh,  I  understand 
jealousy  !  I  understand  everything  now 
— the  Seventh  Commandment  above  all 
others !  I  regard  her  as  my  wife.  I  can- 
not help  it.  When  I  saw  her  that  day  at 
'  Randalls,'  I  knew  her  at  a  glance.  She 
was  to  be  the  woman  of  my  life.  If 
other  men  are  less  impressionable — I  am 
sorry  for  them !  I  had  rather  love  one 
creature   too  well    than   too    many — too 


238  The  Herb-Moon. 

little !  I  have  no  desire  to  be  in  the 
fashion." 

"  My  brother  speaks,"  thought  Rose, 
proudly  ;  "  he  is  at  last — himself !  " 

He  stood  up.  The  tears  had  carried 
away  the  last  remnant  of  his  indecision. 

"  You  can  ask  me  to  look  on,"  he  said, 
"  and  work, — work  while  the  woman  I 
love  marries  another  man !  My  father 
did  that,  and  the  general  opinion  con- 
demned him.  He  was  thought  far  too 
generous !  " 

"  People  are  always  called  weak,"  said 
Rose,  "  when  they  do  not  act  for  their 
own  advantage." 

"  And  rightly,"  he  exclaimed,  "  rightly ! 
I  hope  I  may  never  mistake  cowardice 
for  resignation.  I  shall  make  the  effort. 
I  shall  appeal  to  Chloe  once  more.  She 
has  sworn  that  she  loves  me.  And,  with 
all  her  faults,  I  believe  that  she  spoke  the 
truth.  On  the  whole,  I  regard  jealousy 
as  a  noble  passion.     Is  it  not  a  divine  at- 


The  Question  of  Edward's  Soul.  239 

tribute?  Your  own  is  your  own.  Chloe 
is  mine — for  richer  or  poorer.  If  she  is 
false  to  me,  let  the  consequences  fall  upon 
her  own  head  !  I  may  in  time  become 
philosophical  on  the  subject,  but  my  mo- 
ment for  philosophy  has  not  yet  come. 
I  will  be  a  man  first  and  a  saint  later !  " 

His  voice  broke.  Mrs.  Harrowby  held 
out  her  hand  to  him. 

"  Tell  all  this  to  Chloe,"  said  she ; 
"  frighten  her  !  treat  her  with  contempt ! 
Teach  her  to  regard  you  with  a  grovelling 
respect — and  she  will  follow  you  proudly, 
into  cheap  lodgings  at  Ealing !  I  know 
women.  They  adore  great  emotions ; 
they  detest  equanimity !  But  keep  the 
emotions  great :  never  let  them  dwindle 
to  the  poodle  dog's  ki-yi !  " 

Mrs.  Harrowby's  language  was  ever 
vigorous.  Her  words  were  like  bread 
soaked  in  vinegar.  She  often  spoke  wis- 
dom, yet  she  sauced  her  counsel  with 
such  bitterness  that  few  could  swallow  it. 


240  The  Herb-Moon. 

"  Cheap  lodgings !  "  repeated  Edward, 
aghast.  "  I  had  forgotten  that  side  of 
the  question !  " 

"  It  is  the  whole  question  !  "  said  Mrs. 
Harrowby.  "  It  will  be  thought  out 
under  the  summer  moon  and  acted  in  a 
little  back  room,  with  a  smoking  chim- 
ney, smuts  in  the  air,  hashed  mutton  on 
the  table,  and  Chloe  shivering  by  the  coal- 
scuttle in  an  old  opera  cloak !  I  have  seen 
such  pictures — Enthusiasm  at  home  !  " 

"  Impossible,"  said  Rose,  "  impossible  ! 
Enthusiasm  never  yet  sat  shivering  by  a 
smoking  chimney !  " 

Mrs.  Harrowby  tittered. 

"  Rose  is  so  active,"  said  she ;  "  she 
would  coax  the  coals,  cut  the  mutton 
into  stars,  cast  lavender  water  in  the  air, 
and  make  her  opera  cloak  into  a  window 
curtain  !     But  she  isn't  usual." 

"  Go  back  to  Ottley,"  whispered  Rose 
to  her  brother,  "  and  ask  Chloe  if  she 
can  be  patient." 


The  Question  of  Edward's  Soul.  241 

This  advice  seemed  good — so  far  as  it 
went.  He  kissed  his  sister  good-bye. 
Mrs.  Harrowby  patted  him  on  the  shoul- 
der. He  went  forth  realizing  that  the 
greater  part  of  life  has  to  be  lived  alone, 
and  wondering  why  the  struggle  for  com- 
panionship should  be  made  to  seem 
worth  while.  Mrs.  Harrowby,  on  the 
other  hand,  withdrew  to  her  bedroom  to 
ache  in  solitude  because  she  had  no  chil- 
dren. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

In  which  Rose  has  to  Restrain  her 
Sympathies. 

ROSE  left  the  torn  brocade.  Her  own 
worn  heart  needed  stitches — many  of 
them.  She  sat  down,  dumbly  eloquent, 
on  the  hearthrug  and  thought  how  pleas- 
ant it  would  be  to  have  a  holiday  from 
care.  She  prayed  timidly  for  Edward. 
She  tried  to  forget  her  knowledge  of  the 
world  and  the  average  ambitious  girl. 
Would  Chloe  be  the  Exception?  She 
remembered  her  eyes  and  felt  hopeful. 

Sir  Harry  Blythe  was  announced.  For 
an  awkward  moment  neither  of  them 
could  speak.  Then  he  expressed  his 
pleasure  at  finding  her  in  good  health. 
She  looked  younger  than    her  years  and 


Rose  has  to  Restrain  her  Sympathies*      243 

prettier  than  her  features.  Her  auburn 
hair  caught  the  sun  and  curled  deli- 
riously round  her  ears.  He  always 
noticed  ears  and  insteps.  Rose's  ears 
were  incredibly  perfect.  He  peered  ner- 
vously at  her  feet.  They  were  as  well 
formed  as  his  own.  He  could  face  with 
confidence  the  thought  of  future  genera- 
tions. .  .  .  They  spoke  of  Mrs.  Har- 
rowby,  her  bitter  charges  against  life. 

"  She  over-estimates  the  power  of 
money,"  said  Sir  Harry;  "she  thinks  of 
nothing  else.  It  has  been  her  curse. 
Her  tone  is  deplorable.  And  the  joke  is 
that  both  Chale  and  Harrowby  had  am- 
ple means !  I  believe  they  were  both 
genuinely  in  love  with  her.  But  she 
was  always  longing  to  play  Beggar-Maid 
to  a  King  Cophetua.  Only  a  brilliant 
woman  could  be  so  silly.  .  .  .  No  doubt 
you  think  us  a  strange  family.  Take  me, 
for  example.  I  am  selfish,  worldly,  cyni- 
cal and  indolent." 


244  The  Herb-Moon. 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Rose. 

"  I  have,  at  any  rate,  always  been  told 
so,"  he  rejoined,  showing  a  bruised  smile. 
"  I  know  my  reputation.  We  all  know, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  what  people  think  of 
us.  But  if  I  am,  as  I  said  before,  selfish, 
I  am  by  no  means  self-satisfied.  A 
man's  moral  force  depends  almost  wholly 
on  his  wife — or  his  women  friends — but 
most  of  all  on  his  wife.  In  my  particular 
circle  marriages  have  often  to  be  made 
for  more  impersonal  considerations  than 
those  of  mere  affection !  If  wives  so 
married,  however,  would  take  the  same 
trouble  to  attract  and  influence  their  hus- 
bands as  they  do  to  please  their  .  .  .  ad- 
mirers .  .  .  many  lives  would  be  re- 
deemed. I  am  by  no  means  convinced 
that  a  man  is  naturally  unfaithful.  All 
the  men  I  know  are  very  anxious  to  do 
the  right  thing.  They  hate  dishonor. 
When  they  go  wrong  it  is  always  for  .  .  . 
mainly  .  .  .  sentimental    reasons.  ...  I 


Rose  has  to  Restrain  her  Sympathies.      245 

see  you  wonder  at  my  introducing  this 
subject.  I  will  explain  myself.  My 
aunt  has  not  concealed  from  me  that  you 
entertain  a  very  strong  feeling  against 
my  .  .  .  rumored  .  .  .  character.  If  you 
did  not  condemn  it — I  should  perhaps 
esteem  you  less.  I  value  a  good  wo- 
man's condemnation.  But  if  you  could 
not  excuse  it — I  should  not  be  talking  to 
you  now.  The  saints  are  always  tolerant 
of  weaknesses  in  others ;  they  alone 
know  how  hard  it  is  to  be  strong !  " 

The  best  of  women — and  the  worst — 
is  never  in  such  spiritual  danger  as  when 
some  man  would  lead  her  to  understand 
that  he  regards  her  as  a  saint.  The 
temptation  to  at  once  prove  and  disprove 
the  charge  is  great.  The  difficulty  of 
sustaining  the  reputation — yet  greater. 
For,  to  be  really  saint-like,  one  has  to  be 
pugnacious,  and  pugnacity  is  not  charm- 
ing. To  say  the  true  word  in  season  and 
out  of  season  is  a  harsh,  ungrateful  task. 


246  The  Herb-Moon. 

All  thanks  for  the  like  are  usually  sobbed 
over  gravestones,  old  letters,  and  dusty 
keepsakes.  A  loving  woman  deserves 
much  credit  when  she  can  cheerfully  ab- 
dicate all  the  heart's  desire  for  tenderness 
in  favor  of  her  coffin-lid.  Rose  had  re- 
ceived many  cold  looks  and  bitter  re- 
proaches in  her  struggle  to  work  good 
rather  than  evil.  Robsart's  farewell  note 
made  tearful  reading.  Edward's  last 
glance  had  fallen  like  hot  cinders  on  her 
face.  And  then  the  self-distrust  which 
followed  all  her  efforts !  Had  she  been 
wise,  after  all,  to  leave  Ottley?  She 
thought  of  Robsart's  possible  life  in  In- 
dia. Mrs.  Harrowby  drew  lurid  pictures 
of  military  society  abroad.  Edward's 
sudden  attachment  to  Chloe  Crecy — how 
would  it  end  ?  Rose  spent  her  anxious 
nights  dreaming  prayers  and  crying  in 
her  sleep.  Philosophy  could  only  give 
her  the  fortitude  to  bear  her  own  troubles. 
When  those  she  loved  were  suffering,  or 


Rose  has  to  Restrain  her  Sympathies.      247 

in  peril,  her  philosophy  failed.  In  this 
respect  she  differed  from  many  of  the 
virtuous,  who,  in  learning  patience,  forget 
compassion.  .  .  . 

"  My  career  so  far,"  continued  Sir 
Harry,  "  has  been  a  disappointment  to 
my  family.  They  feel  that  I  have  not 
made  the  best  of  my  talents.  I  was  con- 
sidered a  clever  boy.  It  would  be  false 
modesty  to  deny  this.  I  was  probably 
bright.  When  I  left  Cambridge  I  went 
abroad.  Art  appealed  to  me.  Politics 
were  a  bore.  So  I  studied  Art  .  .  .  from 
the  outside,  as  it  were.  I  never  drew  a 
line.  I  merely  sought  the  principle  of 
beauty  in  all  things.  What  is  beautiful 
is  right :  what  is  unbeautiful  is  wrong. 
You  know  the  idea  ?  But  to  know  true 
beauty.     That  is  a  life-work." 

Rose  was  listening  intently.  As  he 
looked  down  at  her  he  felt  that  there 
was  not  a  wise  man,  aware  of  her  in- 
finite ability  for  self-sacrifice,  her  religious 


248  The  Herb-Moon. 

method  of  idolatry,  but  would  have 
made  every  effort  to  secure  the  treasure 
even  at  the  cost  of  her  own  happiness. 

"  My  circumstances  were  such,"  he 
continued,  "that,  fortunately  or  unfor- 
tunately, I  could  gratify  every  rational 
caprice.  I  made  mistakes.  I  admired 
the  wrong  things.  Perhaps  the  wrong 
people.  But  I  was  never  coarse.  There 
is  sentiment  in  our  family.  My  mother 
was  an  amateur  poetess  of  no  inconsider- 
able merit.  She  never  published  her 
verses.  She  corresponded  with  Words- 
worth ;  she  knew  Shelley.  You  may 
imagine  her." 

Rose  bowed  her  head. 

"  My  earliest  associations,"  said  Sir 
Harry,  "  were  with  all  that  is  high-minded. 
I  abhor  the  base,  the  sordid,  the  igno- 
minious. I  observe  human  conduct,  but 
I  do  not  presume  to  understand  it.  My 
sole  endeavor  is  to  keep  my  own  mind 
varnished.     I  used  that  word  deliberately. 


Rose  has  to  Restrain  her  Sympathies*      249 

I  would  not  have  you  suspect  me  of  self- 
deception.  Life  as  a  thing  is  hideous. 
Imagination  is  its  sole  redemption.  It  is 
our  imagination,  not  our  conscience, 
which  makes  us  better  than  the  beasts  of 
the  field.  Conscience  of  itself  makes  us, 
if  anything,  the  beast's  inferior.  For  he 
represents  nature  warring  honestly  with 
natural  forces.  But  we  represent  nature 
at  war  with  God.  .  .  ." 

The  man  was  sincere,  or  had — in  the 
course  of  conversation — gradually  be- 
come so.  How  long  his  sincerity  would 
last  was  another — and  perhaps  an  ungen- 
erous— question.  Few  prayers  would  be 
answered — and  fewer  good  intentions 
placed  to  our  credit — if  the  Judge  of  all 
hearts  demanded  that  same  unswerving 
constancy  of  mind  from  us  which  we  so 
urgently  insist  on  from  our  fellow-crea- 
tures. To  be  wilfully  honest  with  another 
human  being  for  even  half  an  hour  is 
enough   to   establish    some  claim,   at  all 


250  The  Herb-Moon. 

events,  to  an  immortal  soul.  And  it  is 
enough  to  explain  the  Divine  desire  to 
save  the  same.  A  famous  priest  onc€ 
wrote,  that  the  majority  of  sinners  were 
so  excessively  unpleasant  that  one  won- 
dered how  the  Almighty  could  feel  love 
for  them.  The  answer  seems  plain. 
With  Him  we  are  always  in  earnest, 
and  earnestness  is  irresistibly  endearing. 
Rose  was  too  sympathetic  to  feel  any 
unkind  amusement  at  what  was  purely 
comic  in  Sir  Harry's  egoism.  If  it  were 
not  for  the  egoists  we  should  learn  very 
little  about  ourselves.  That  much  is 
clear.  Blythe's  sketch  of  his  mother, 
that  amateur  poetess,  was  not  without 
pathos— the  inevitable  laugh  once  done 
with.  Poetry — and  most  of  all  amateur 
poetry — stands  for  pain.  Every  line  of 
it  spells  woe.  Either  the  writer — or 
those  living  with  the  writer — could  tell  a 
tale.  Sir  Harry's  face  was  engraved  with 
worn-out  rhymes.     Heart  and  part,  take 


Rose  has  to  Restrain  her  Sympathies*      251 

and  forsake,  love  and  above,  dear  and 
tear,  to-day  and  away,  kindness  and  blind- 
ness. .  .  .  But  the  man  was  now  sincere. 
Was  he  ever — at  his  worst — zwsincere? 
Rose  could  not  think  so.  He  had  Man- 
ners, but  he  was  never  a  sham. 

"  I  wished  to  give  you,"  he  continued, 
"  some  faint  notion  of  the  life  I  had  led. 
That  is  why  I  have  dwelt  at  such  unpar- 
donable length  on  my  point  of  view. 
No  woman  needs  to  understand  more  of 
any  man's  history  than  his  point  of  view. 
That  is  the  only  thing  she  can  affect — 
that  she  is  competent — or  called  upon — 
to  deal  with.  When  I  assure  you  that 
you  have — quite  unconsciously,  I  know 
— affected  my  whole  mental  attitude — I 
mean  it  as  the  highest  compliment  I  can 
offer.     Not  that  you  value  compliments." 

"  Oh  dear !  "  said  Rose,  getting  red 
and  feeling  wretched. 

Sir  Harry  knew  women.  He  did  not 
misunderstand  her  blush.     If  a  handsome 


252  The  Herb-Moon. 

man  can  ever  lose  hope  in  a  love-affair, 
Blythe  lost  it  then. 

"  I  have  been  able  to  watch  you  more 
closely  than  you  can  realize,"  he  went 
on,  but  in  a  duller  voice.  "  Your  pa- 
tience, your  dignity,  your  courage,  your 
tenderness.  And  I  know  your  story. 
I  was  acquainted,  too,  with  your  husband. 
Your  sorrow  where  your  marriage  is  con- 
cerned was,  and  must  always  be,  unspeak- 
able. If  I  refer  to  it,  it  is  merely  to 
show  you  that  I  understand." 

He  looked  up  and  met  her  eyes.  A 
silent  question  was  put ;  a  silent  answer 
given. 

"  All  the  rest,"  he  said,  aloud,  "  shall  not 
now  be  put  into  words.  I  see  that  you, 
too,  understand.  ...  I  would  have  tried 
to  make  you  happy,  Rose." 

She  was  weeping,  and  he  received  an 
exquisite  satisfaction  from  her  grief. 
Each  one  of  her  tears  fell  like  fiery  rain 
on  his  chilled  heart.     It  evidently  pained 


Rose  has  to  Restrain  her  Sympathies*      253 

her  to  refuse  him.  This  is  a  woman's 
innocent  snare  for  calling  back,  insidi- 
ously, rejected  love. 

"  I  should  own,"  he  said,  "  that  my 
aunt  has  more  than  once  hinted  that 
your  .  .  .  interest  .  .  .  was  elsewhere ! 
I  am  too  late  !  " 

"  My  friend,"  she  said,  quickly,  "  now 
let  me  talk !  " 

Mother-like  she  patted  his  arm. 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  she.  "  I  wonder 
at  you.  You  are  rich,  handsome,  young, 
and  popular.  If  you  married  me,  all 
your  relatives — with  one  exception — 
would  call  you  a  fool.  Not  that  I  should 
disgrace  them  or  you.  If  I  could  call 
back  my  youth — my  prettiness  (and  I 
was  pretty  once) — if  I  had  a  fortune, 
it  would  all  be  thought  reasonable 
enough.  But  these  things  are  not  and 
cannot  be.  For  some  years  now  I  have 
worked  for  my  living.  I  am  at  present 
Mrs.  Harrowby's  companion." 


254  The  Herb-Moon. 

"  You  would  give  me  a  future,"  said 
Sir  Harry,  who  had  well  and  often 
weighed  all  these  objections;  "you  are 
the  one  woman  who  has  been  able  to 
make  me  contemplate  marriage  not  only 
as  a  possible,  but  a  desirable,  state.  You 
are  my  ideal  wife.  I  had  no  ideal  till  I 
met  you." 

He  was  still  sincere. 

"  That  other  man,"  he  added,  with 
some  bitterness,  "is  lucky.  Does  he 
know — how  lucky  ?  " 

"  You  are  quite  mistaken,"  said  Rose, 
trembling.-  "  The  .  .  .  man  .  .  .  you  re- 
fer to  is  my  brother's  friend.  Circum- 
stances threw  us  much — perhaps  too 
much — into  each  other's  society.  His 
life  was,  I  think,  sadder  than  my  own. 
For  he  was  a  man.  Men  were  made  to 
reform  existence,  not  to  accept  it.  En- 
durance on  their  part  works  like  rust. 
...  I  was  sorry  for  him." 

"  And  can't  you    feel   sorry  for  me  ?  " 


Rose  has  to  Restrain  her  Sympathies*      255 

cried  Sir  Harry,  dropping  the  even  tone 
and  frigid  air  he  mistook  for  self-control ; 
"can't  you  feel  sorry  for  me?  You  are 
my  one  chance.     I  know  it.     I  love  you." 

He  knelt  at  her  feet.  He  put  his  arm 
round  her  waist. 

"  I  know  it,"  he  repeated. 

Rose  unlocked  his  hand  and  moved 
away  to  the  window. 

"  What  can  I  say  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  stood  up,  and,  turning  his  back  to 
her,  watched  her  reflection  in  the  mirror. 

"  Perhaps  I  spoke  too  eagerly,"  he 
observed,  after  a  long  pause.  "  I  intended 
to  be  calm,  but  when  I  saw  you  looking 
so  distressed  about  that — fellow — I  said 
anything !  You  don't  understand  me. 
I  am  not  made  of  stone.  Let  us  talk 
quietly." 

"  Not  on  this  subject,"  said  Rose. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  persuade  you  into  any 
step  against  your  will.  No  happiness 
ever   comes   by  persuasion.     Nor  will    I 


256  The  Herb-Moon. 

urge  the  fact  that  you  ought  to  be  mar- 
ried— and  married  to  a  man  who  can  offer 
you  the  means,  the  position  you  deserve. 
Such  considerations  do  not  weigh  with 
you.  My  aunt  tells  me  that  when  you 
were  a  mere  school-girl  you  refused 
Charlie  Aberthaw.  He  would  have  made 
a  better  husband  than  Arden,  and  he 
owns  half  of  Mertford !  You  were  fool- 
ish to  reject  him.  Not  that  I  wish  to 
remind  you  of  old  mistakes." 

"  You  may,"  said  Rose,  serenely,  "  you 
may.     They  give  me  courage." 

"  You  are  a  strange  woman.  .  .  .  Did 
you  wish  me  to  believe  that  you  find  life 
here — with  my  aunt — preferable  to  a  life 
of  affection,  tenderness  .  .  .  devotion  . 
.  .  independence  ?     It  is  inconceivable  !  " 

"  If  I  married  you,"  said  Rose,  "  whose 
heart  would  break?  " 

Involuntarily,  his  hand  pressed  a  letter- 
case  in  his  breast-pocket, 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked. 


Rose  has  to  Restrain  her  Sympathies*      257 

"  Would  any  heart  be  broken  ?  "  she 
explained. 

"  No  one,"  he  answered,  "  would  have 
any  right  to — to — say  the  least  word." 

"Not  even  Lady  Lamister?" 

"  That's  a  preposterous  rumor.  ..." 

"  I  have  often  seen  Lady  Lamister," 
said  Rose ;  "  her  face  .  .  .  her  pitiful  face 
— has  told  me  all  I  know." 

"  She  is  not  a  happy  woman.  I  cannot 
help  her  expression  ! " 

"You  could ! " 

"  You  are  wrong  to  introduce  her  name. 
I  must  call  it — pardon  me — unchivalrous. 
Another  woman  !     This  is  not  like  you." 

"  I  never  believe  in  a  reform  which 
looks,  in  the  back,  like  desertion  !  "  said 
Rose,  ignoring  his  remark. 

"  Desertion,"  said  Sir  Harry,  "  is  a 
most  uncalled-for  word." 

"  If  Lady  Lamister  were  an  evil  wo- 
man," continued  Rose,  "  it  would  be 
different.     Your   will    is    stronger    than 


258  The  Herb-Moon. 

hers — that  is  all.  And,  as  you  used  your 
will  to  her  misfortune,  now — that  your 
point  of  view  is  altered — use  it  for  her 
salvation.  But  to  forsake  her — because 
— for  a  moment — another  woman  is  in 
sight !  Is  that  being  a  changed  man  ?  It 
sounds  very  like  the  old  one ! " 

"  You  will  certainly  regret  this  .  .  . 
this  tone,"  replied  Sir  Harry.  "There 
are  some  things  which  ought  never  to  be 
said !  They  jar  horribly.  They  haunt 
the  mind.     They  kill  affection." 

"  I  speak  as  your  best  friend,"  said  Rose. 

He  laughed. 

"  I  don't  ask  for  your  friendship,"  said 
he.  "Your  friendship  is  too  disinter- 
ested !  I  want  love.  If  you  loved  me 
you  would  not  worry  long  about  Lady 
Lamister's  broken  heart !  " 

She  made  no  answer. 

"  I  shall  go  abroad."  he  said,  abruptly. 

"Why  don't  you  marry  Lady  Lam- 
ister?" 


Rose  has  to  Restrain  her  Sympathies.      259 

He  seemed  not  to  hear. 

"  Good-bye,"  said  he  ;  "  whether  I  agree 
with  you — or  whether  I  think  you  are 
unreasonable — I  find  myself  your  slave." 

He  had  recovered  his  gallantry. 

"I  want  you  to  do  the  right  thing  and 
be  happy,"  said  Rose. 

His  eyes  were  more  desperate  for  a  last 
look  at  her  face  than  his  ears  to  hear  her 
advice.  Yet  her  advice — as  its  echo 
reached  him — seemed  good.  Hilda 
Lamister — with  all  her  faults — was  very 
sweet.  She  depended  on  him  for  her 
moral  principles.  Perhaps  this  was  as  it 
should  be — if  one  wanted  peace  of  mind. 
The  reformation  scheme  had  a  seamy 
side.  Poor  little  Hilda!  She  made 
scenes ;  she  had  lately  taken  to  rouge  ; 
she  went  uneasily  from  church  to  church 
seeking  "  eloquent  "  preachers.  Poor  lit- 
tle Hilda,  indeed ! 

"  Pray  for  your  own  happiness,  Rose," 
he  said,  solemnly ;  "  not  mine  !  not  mine ! " 

And  so  he  left  her. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

Some  Ways  of  Bearing;  Affliction. 

ROSE  carried  Robsart's  farewell  letter 
in  her  breast.  She  seldom  re-read  the 
whole  ;  her  memory  had  adorned  itself 
with  a  few  love-trimmed  phrases  picked 
out  here  and  there  from  the  dim,  gram- 
matical gloom. 

"  I  have  enlisted  because  I  am  not  rich  enough 
to  travel  as  a  civilian,  and  every  association  here  is 
now  so  painful  that  my  sole  cure  lies  in  flight. 
For  the  present,  I  am  ill  in  mind — so  ill  that  I 
have  neither  the  time  nor  the  power  to  take  my 
choice  of  remedies.  I  accept — and  accept  grate- 
fully— the  first  which  offers  itself.  My  soul  is 
drenched  with  bitterness.  This,  I  know,  from 
your  own  example,  is  not  right.  I  have  never 
heard  you  complain.  So  I  must  try  to  learn  the 
secret  of  endurance."         ■  .'"    . '      '   .:     ' 


Some  Ways  of  Bearing  Affliction.         261 

He  did  not  ask  her  to  write,  and, 
woman-like,  she  felt  at  once  relieved  and 
hurt  at  this  mark  of  consideration.  A 
correspondence  between  people  who  may 
not,  with  mutual  peace  of  mind,  remain 
together  under  the  same  roof  is  the  very 
sledge-hammer  of  woe.  It  shatters  our 
rock  of  refuge  about  our  ears.  It  crushes 
down  every  philosophic  resolution.  It  is 
an  unearthing  of  the  buried — a  tearing-up 
of  the  heart's  sleeping  grain.  What  is  the 
secret  of  endurance  but  the  willingness 
to  concede  that  certain  things  can  never 
be  ?  Rose  had  said  this  often.  She  knew 
that  Robsart  had  been  thinking — when  he 
wrote — of  her  own  words.  But  circum- 
stances were  changed  now.  The  impossi- 
ble had  become  merely  difficult.  She  sat 
musing,  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands 
and  tears  trickling  through  her  fingers. 

"  Our  Father,"  she  prayed,  "  if  there 
be  any  happiness  laid  up  for  me,  let  it  be 
given  rather  to  Edward." 


262  The  Herb-Moon. 

She  was  roused  by  a  tap  on  the  shoul- 
der. It  was  Mrs.  Harrowby,  grown  very 
old  and  very  small. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  she,  "  that  I  spoke 
rather  harshly  to  that  poor  boy." 

Her  voice  quavered.  She  sat  down ; 
closed  her  eyes. 

"  Rose,"  she  whispered,  at  last,  "it's  no 
use  .  .  ."  and  she  fell  so  violently  to 
weeping  that  her  face  looked  like  a  little 
white  grave-stone  in  a  great  storm  of 
rain. 

"  You  understand  !  "  she  said,  when 
she  grew  calmer. 

Rose  nodded  her  head. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  about  your 
father,"  murmured  Mrs.  Harrowby.  "  I 
have  never  said  bitter  things  about  him, 
have  I  ?  His  eyes  were  gray  like  peb- 
bles, and  his  under-lip  looked  selfish. 
The  last  time  we  met,  he  asked  me  to  let 
him  know — now  and  again — what  I  was 
doing !     And  he  knew  he  had  broken  my 


Some  Ways  of  Bearing;  Affliction.  263 

heart — knezv  it,  Rose.  I  was  never  coy 
with  Banish ;  I  loved  him  far  too  seri- 
ously to  play  monkey-tricks.  .  .  .  But 
that's  all  over.  ...  I  have  a  little  cottage 
in  Mertford,"  she  added,  after  a  pause, 
"which  isn't  grand  enough  for  Harry 
Blythe,  though  it's  pretty  and  conven- 
ient, and,  for  a  man  with  a  thousand  a 
year,  it  would  be  perfect.  I  will  give 
it  to  Edward  and  make  him  a  suitable 
allowance.  The  boy  is  a  genius.  You 
must  go  to  Ottley  and  tell  him  so  to- 
morrow. He  shall  have  his  chance. 
There  is  something  in  him.  Some  peo- 
ple back  horses  :  I  prefer  to  back  souls  !  " 

She  chattered  on  at  a  feverish  pace. 
The  boy  stood  on  the  threshold  of  a 
great  artistic  career ;  he  craved  encour- 
agement. Every  one  would  believe  in 
the  successful  ;  every  one  was  ready  to 
help  those  who  stood  in  no  need  of  assist- 
ance, but  beginners  had  a  hard  time. 

"  He  has  enough  to  live  on,  dear  Mrs. 


264  The  Herb-Moon. 

Harrowby,"  said  Rose,  "  and  if  you  are 
determined  to  be  generous,  it  would  be 
kinder  to  give  his  opera  a  hearing  than  to 
give  him  more  money  than  he  could 
wisely  spend." 

"  You  forget  the  girl.  I  want  him  to 
marry  that  girl.  He  loves  her.  She  in- 
spires him." 

"  She  would  cease  to  inspire  him  when 
he  realized  that  someone  else  was  paying 
their  bills.     He  has  a  proud  nature." 

"  He  is  a  man  of  genius,"  said  Mrs. 
Harrowby,  "  he  will,  in  time,  make  a 
small  fortune.  He  will  not  rest  long  on 
my  feeble  oars.  I  merely  lend  them 
while  his  own  are  being  shaped.  My 
bankers  shall  place  to  his  credit  one  thou- 
sand a  year,  till  he,  himself,  can  earn  as 
much.  That's  a  fair  proposal,  and  no 
reasonable  person — in  his  circumstances 
— would  refuse  it." 

She  had  telegraphed  for  her  lawyer ; 
the  man   arrived  while  she  was  talking. 


Some  Ways  of  Bearing  Affliction.         265 

Rose  felt  far  from  satisfied  at  her  friend's 
course,  and  when,  on  the  morrow,  she  left 
London  for  Ottley,  her  mind  was  beset 
with  many  doubts. 

How  strangely  familiar  Ottley  looked 
on  that  day  of  returning  !  Adam  was  at 
the  station  with  Arabella  and  the  trap ; 
the  stationmaster  and  the  porter  and  the 
boy  at  the  paper  stand  were  smiling  on 
the  platform  ;  yet  it  was  all  changed,  all 
different.  Adam,  ever  a  silent  man,  had 
little  to  say  as  they  drove  to  the  farm. 

"  My  brother — Mr.  Tatley — has  lost 
his  wife,"  he  observed,  but  no  more. 

Adam's  brother  was  always  called  Mr. 
Tatley,  because  he  had  once  been  valet  to 
the  Marquis  of  Garrow  and  he  now  betted. 
His  wife  was  the  village  dressmaker. 

"  Poor  soul!  poor  patient  soul!  "  said 
Rose,  "what  will  become  of  all  of  the 
little  ones?  Let  us  call  at  the  cottage 
on  the  way  home." 


266  The  Herb-Moon. 

They  found  the  widower  sitting  in  an 
old  smoking-jacket  rocking  his  youngest 
born  to  sleep  and  reading  The  Matrimo- 
nial Herald. 

"  Pray  do  not  rise,"  said  Rose,  "  you 
will  disturb  the  child.  I  am  very  sorry  to 
hear " 

"Oh,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Tatley,  "it 
comes  very  hard.  I  have  nine  children. 
And  there's  no  one  to  look  after  them. 
Susan  has  taken  the  five  eldest  for  the 
time  being,  but  that  can't  go  on  for  ever." 

"That's  true,"  said  Adam. 

"  Ethel  was  used  to  hard  work,  and  she 
didn't  feel  it,"  continued  Mr.  Tatley;  "it 
was  nothing  to  her  to  get  up  at  five  and 
go  on  all  day  till  ten  or  eleven.  But  I 
have  never  done  that  sort  of  thing.  So 
a  man  is  driven  to  be  thoughtful,"  added 
he  "jin  spite  of  himself." 

"True,"  said  Adam. 

"  But  no  Second,"  observed  Mr.  Tatley, 
"  could  ever  be  the  same  as  the  First !  " 


Some  Ways  of  Bearing;  Affliction.  267 

"And  when  was  she  buried?"  asked 
Rose. 

"Last  week,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Tatley; 
"  and  it  was  all  done  in  good  taste 
There  was  nothing  vulgar,  and  we  drank 
sherry  afterwards." 

Rose  shook  his  hand  and  left  one  of 
her  few  sovereigns  on  the  mantelpiece. 
Then  she  and  Adam  drove  on  to  Wrestle's 
Farm. 

"  Mr.  Tatley,"  remarked  Adam,  "  is 
such  a  gentleman  in  his  way  of  bearing 
trouble,  that  you  would  think  he  was  a 
love-child ! " 


CHAPTER  XVm 
In  which  a  Few  are  Found  Faithful. 

Edward  was  absent  at  the  choir  prac- 
tice when  Rose  reached  the  farm,  but 
Susan  stood  in  the  doorway,  her  lips 
heavy  with  undelivered  news. 

"  Upon  my  heart  and  life,"  said  she,  "  I 
have  been  all  of  a  tremble  since  I  got 
your  telegram.  I  have  shaken  every  car- 
pet in  the  house — such  a  to-do  I  never 
made,  not  even  when  I  was  married. 
You  do  look  a  poor  mite,  and  no  mistake  ! 
Have  some  milk,  there's  a  lamb !  And 
what  goings-on  since  you  were  here ! 
What  with  Mr.  Edward  and  poor  Maude- 
Ethel  Tatley's  death  ! — But  come  up- 
stairs to  your  room,  darling,  and  see  the 
lovely  water-can    I    bought   you  when  I 


In  which  a  Few  are  Found  Faithful.        269 

went  into  Ottley  Major  for  the  funeral. 
I  see  it  hanging  up  in  Bolton's  window — 
the  very  thing.  Let  me  untie  your  bon- 
net— •  'twould  suit  you  better,  dearie,  if 
you  curled  your  hair.  But  it  don't  look 
well,  say  what  you  like,  to  see  a  lot  of 
curls  on  a  recent  widow  !  Oh,  my  dear, 
when  I  heard  that  !  Well,  there  ! — it 
didn't  seem  quite  right  to  say,  'Thank 
God,'  so  I  went  to  church  three  times  the 
Sunday  after  and  followed  the  Prayer- 
book  most  particular.  I  sang  the  Psalms 
so  loud  that  Mrs.  Triptree  looked  round 
as  if  I  was  drowning  the  choir.  '  To  him 
which  slew  great  kings  :  for  His  mercy  en- 
dureth  for  ever.'  You  should  ha'  heard 
me  shout  that.  '  And  Og,  the  king  of 
Bashan  :  for  His  mercy  endureth  for  ever' 
The  Bible  is  a  grand  blessing  when  you 
can't  trust  yourself  to  speak  natural. 
When  I  said  '  Og,'  I  thought  of  Mr.  Ar- 
den  and- — " 
•   "Tell -me,  dear  Susan,"  said -Rose,  kiss- 


270  The  Herb-Moon. 

ingher  apple-ish  cheeks,  "tell  me  all  you 
can  about  Edward.  Is  he  well  ?  does  he 
eat  his  porridge  ?  " 

"  There's  too  much  herb-mooning  in 
this  neighborhood,"  replied  Susan,  with 
a  wise  look  ;  "  but  from  all  I  can  hear  it 
is  much  the  same  everywhere !  Mr. 
Edward  has  given  up  porridge,  and  he 
lives  on  Normandy  pippins,  sardines, 
anchovy  paste,  and  olives  in  bottles.  His 
stomach  seems  to  turn  against  sensible 
food.  It  does  sometimes— when  you  fall 
in  love.  At  the  time  father  was  courting 
mother,  she  couldn't  touch  nothing  but 
raw  turnips.  She  used  to  tell  that  story 
by  the  hour.  Love  is  a  cruel  thing  for 
the  indigestion.  And  I  have  heard  that 
Miss  Chloe  Crecy  ain't  much  better  off. 
She's  taking  orange  wine  and  iron  four 
times  a  day.  She's  got  a  heart — poor 
dear  young  lady — in  spite  of  herself. 
She'll  have  Mr.  Edward  yet.  They  say 
that  the  way   she    keeps  the    Honorable 


In  which  a  Few  are  Found  Faithful.        27 1 

Camelot  so  near  and  yet  so  far  is  a  lesson 
to  menials.  He  dursn't  ask  her  to  marry 
him,  and  yet  he  dursn't  go  away  for  fear 
of  Mr.  Edward.  Mrs.  Crecy  is  on  the 
rampage,  and  Mr.  Crecy  goes  on  some- 
thing dreadful  in  his  dressing-room  of  a 
morning  and  evening.  He  shouts  through 
the  door  to  Mrs.  Crecy  while  she's  doing 
her  hair,  and  the  second  housemaid,  who 
sweeps  the  landing  outside,  told  me  that 
he  talks  so  blasphemiously  that  she  has 
scruples  in  listening!  But,  as  she  says, 
the  landing  must  be  swept,  and  before 
breakfast,  too !  I  don't  feel  a  bit  of 
worry  about  Mr.  Edward,  my  pet,  not  a 
bit.  He's  such  a  lovely-looking  feller 
without  his  beard.  How  that  did  spoil 
him,  to  be  sure !  You  mark  my  words — 
he'll  cut  out  the  Honorable  Camelot  I 
see  Miss  Crecy  heave  her  eye  up  to  the 
organ-loft  more  than  once  during  the 
Communion  last  Sunday,  when  every  one 
was  praying  with  their  heads  down  !     Oi 


272  The  Herb-Moon. 

course,  it  wasn't  right  to  be  looking  at  a 
young  man  just  then,  but  flesh-and-blood 
will  wander,  even  if  you  was  to  glue  your 
knees  to  a  hassock  !  No,  lovie,  the  only 
minit  that  I  felt  downright  bad  since  you 
left  was  when  Mr.  Robsart  went  away 
with  the  Sergeant.  I  couldn't  watch  him 
go.  I  stayed  in  the  back  pantry,  and  I 
kep'  saying  to  myself,  '  Whatever  will 
become  of  poor  darlin'  Mrs.  Arden?' 
You  see,  dearie,  I  knew." 

"  What  ?  "  said  Rose,  with  a  fine  blush. 

"  I  knew,  dearie,"  said  Susan,  solemnly, 
"that  you  loved  him  to  your  life!  I 
knew  it  all  along — but  you  don't  mind 
me,  surely.  It  used  to  go  to  my  heart 
when  you  would  sit  at  work  a-trying  to 
act  more  Christian  than  is  good  for  the 
skin.  And  it  was  a  crool  test  for  any 
man — say  what  you  like — to  see  a  sweet, 
pretty  young  creature  growing  downright 
plain,  just  out  of  duty,  so  to  speak.  You 
are   always  nice-looking  to   me,    darlin', 


In  which  a  Few  are  Found  Faithful.        273 

but  I  have  often  wished  that  you  could 
ha  worn  your  lovely  hair  in  ringlets  and 
shown  off.  As  for  Mr.  Robsart,  he 
couldn't  deceive  Susan.  I  have  caught 
him — more'n  once — picking  up  your 
work — after  you  had  left  it — and  giving 
it  a  look  in  an  adoring  sort  of  way  as  he 
knew  would  ha'  been  wrong  to  give  to 
you  direct !  And  once  he  kissed  it — and 
a  needle  pricked  him — which  narrer- 
minded  people  would  have  called  a  judg- 
ment, but  I  think  it  was  a  accident  and 
nothing  more.  I  was  never  one  for  find- 
ing judgments !  If  a  man  was  to  kiss  his 
own  wife's  sewing-basket  (to  be  sure,  I 
never  see'd  one  do  anything  so  affection- 
ate), he'd  be  certain  to  get  a  darning- 
needle  in  his  chin.  There's  reason  in  all 
things.  But  now,  my  poor  lamb,  you  can 
think  of  him  all  day  and  all  night  without 
sin  (and  after  all  you've  gone  through 
you  deserve  a  little  happiness),  and  you 
can  put  flowers  on  his  mother's  grave  and 


2 74  The  Herb-Moon. 

behave  just  as  though  you  was  engaged 
to  him !  Won't  it  be  heavenly,  dear  ? 
And  he'll  come  back  to  England  the  very 
moment  he  hears  that  you  are  free,  and 
sha'n't  I  cry  at  the  wedding!  " 

The  good  creature  had  moist  eyes  at 
this  luxurious  thought. 

"  And  you  can  wear  mauve  or  gray," 
she  continued,  after  a  pause,  "  or  a  nice 
flowered  silk — one  of  them  that  will  stand 
alone.  They're  a  great  support  when 
you  feel  your  limbs  giving  way  with  pal- 
pitations. And  I've  heard  that  one  is 
more  nervous  the  second  time  o'  getting 
married  than  the  first.  Who  could  wonder 
at  it?  But  he'll  make  a  kind  husband — 
will  Mr.  Robsart — although  he's  so  quiet." 

Rose  kissed  her  again,  and  said  "  No ! 
no!"  in  an  affirmatory  tone. 

"  He  won't  come  back  for  years  and 
years,"  said  she ;  "  and  he  doesn't  even 
know  that  things  are  different." 

"Oh  yes,  he  does,"  replied  Susan,  "for 


In  which  a  Few  are  Found  Faithful*        275 

I  took  and  wrote  to  him  myself.  '  P.  S., ' 
I  says  in  my  letter,  '  I  suppose  you  have 
heard  our  sad  news.  Mrs.  Arden's  hus- 
band has  been  mercifully  took  away  after 
a  heavy  meal.  Will  send  particulars  in 
my  next.'  I  thought  that  would  do  for 
a  first  hint." 

"Oh,  Susan!"  said  Rose,  "how  could 
you  ?  " 

"  Because  I  knew  you  wouldn't,"  said 
Susan,  stolidly. 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  at 
this  point  by  a  tap  at  the  door. 

"  It's  Georgiana,"  said  Susan  ;  "  you 
wouldn't  believe  the  trouble  I  have  had 
with  that  girl.  She  mopes  about  the 
house  and  she  ain't  a  bit  the  better  for 
the  nice  outing  I  gave  her  to  Maude-Ethel 
Tatley's  funeral.  But,  oh,  my  dear ! — 
that's  an  affair!  Mr.  Tatley  has  taken 
quite  a  fancy  to  her.  Don't  stand  there 
knocking,  Georgiana,"  she  said,  raising 
her  voice,  "  but  come  in." 


276  The  Herb-Moon. 

"  Mr.  Tatley  is  in  the  kitchen,"  said 
Georgiana,  entering  the  room  with  a 
blush  and  a  curtsey  to  Rose. 

"  What  does  he  want  now  ?  "  said  Susan  ; 
but,  as  she  spoke,  her  eyes  fell  upon  a 
pair  of  jet  earrings  of  the  afo?/-shape 
which  hung  from  Georgiana's  scarlet 
ears. 

"  Who  gave  you  them  expensive  pres- 
ents ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Mr.  Tatley,"  said  Georgiana,  simper- 
ing. 

"  That's  the  way  it  goes  on  !  "  exclaimed 
Susan;  "of  course,  jet  is  mourning,  and 
so  far  it's  very  delicate  on  Mr.  Tatley 's 
part.  But  it's  early  days,  to  my  thinking, 
to  be  giving  you  even  mourning  jewelry  ! 
I  don't  hold  with  it  myself,  and  I  shall 
tell  him  so.  They're  a  very  handsome 
pair  of  earrings,  those,  such  as  any  lady 
might  wear.  Maude-Ethel  did  speak 
once  or  twice  of  leaving  them  to  me. 
She   had    'em    given    to   her    while    she 


In  which  a  Few  are  Found  Faithful.        277 

was  in  service  at  Squire  Dearie's.  I 
shall  speak  my  mind  to  Tatley  pretty 
straight." 

"And  now,  Georgiana,"  said  Rose, 
when  Susan  had  flounced  out  of  the 
room,  "  have  you  forgotten  Arthur?" 

"  La,  ma'am,"  said  Georgiana,  "  do  you 
mean  Arthur  Venus  with  the  curly  hair? 
He  went  and  'listed.  He  never  asked 
me  to  remember  him.  And  he's  gone 
clean  out  of  my  head.  Young  men  are 
so  unsteady,  too." 

She  felt  her  earrings,  and  looked  pen- 
sive. 

"  Poor  Arthur  !  "  said  Rose. 

"  He  wasn't  kind  to  me,"  answered 
Georgiana,  getting  white,  "  and  no  girl 
with  a  bit  o'  pride  could  put  up  wi'  such 
treatment.  And  I  demeaned  myself  be- 
ing seen  with  him.  They're  a  very  com- 
mon lot — the  Venuses.  Father  would 
ha' cast  me  off  for  marrying  any  one  so 
low.     It's    a  lucky   thing    my  eyes   was 


278  The  Herb-Moon. 

opened  in  time.  Now  Mr.  Tatley,  as  any 
one  can  see,  is  a  man  in  a  thousand.  Mr. 
Crecy  offered  to  take  him  on  as  valet, 
and  so  has  Sir  Robert  Drame.  Mr.  Crecy 
offers  the  best  wages,  so  he  thinks  he 
'ull  go  there.  You  don't  see  no  com- 
pany neither  at  Sir  Robert's,  and  the 
food  'ud  poison  a  pauper.  .  .  .  Besides, 
Mr.  Tatley  likes  to  be  near  his  fam'ly 
and  his  friends  !  " 

She  looked  self-conscious,  and  glanced 
at  herself  in  the  mirror  on  Rose's  dress- 
ing-table. 

"  How  did  it  all  come  about  ?  "  asked 
Rose,  who  was  now  resting,  after  her 
long  journey,  on  the  sofa. 

"  It  was  like  this,"  said  Georgiana : 
"  Mrs.  Tatley  died,  and  the  baby,  too. 
They  was  put  in  the  same  coffin.  I  did 
croi  to  see  them  there.  And  it  was  all 
through  my  croi-ing  that  Mr.  Tatley 
noticed  me.  '  You've  got  a  feelin'  heart, 
Georgiana,'  says  he.     He  was  standin'  by 


In  which  a  Few  are  Found  Faithful.    279 

the  coffin  at  the  time,  shaking  his  head 
and  now  and  again  holdin'  up  his  ribs. 
'  I  feel  such  a  sinkin','  says  he  ;  '  I've  got 
the  very  same  symtims  as  his  lordship 
had  when  her  ladyship  died  o'  typhoid  at 
Men/one.  Just  for  all  the  world  the  very 
same  symtims.  I  remember  they  gave 
his  lordship  a  dose  of  brandy.'  And 
would  you  believe  it,  ma'am,  not  one  of 
the  others  who  was  there  had  the  sense 
to  see  what  poor  Mr.  Tatley  wanted. 
He  didn't  like  to  ask  right  out  for  it — 
he's  not  so  vulgar.  And  I  happened  to 
have  the  ten-shilling  piece  in  my  pocket 
what  you  sent  me  for  my  birthday.  I 
was  going  to  buy  myself  them  amber 
beads  in  Warton's  window,  but  I  slipped 
round  to  'The  Plover  and  Quail'  and 
ordered  in  two  bottles  of  the  best 
invalid  brandy  for  Mr.  Tatley.  It's 
something  dreadful  to  see  a  man  so 
upset." 


280  The  Herb-Moon, 

"  And  then  what  happened  ?  "  asked 
Rose. 

"  He  shook  my  hand,  and  he  said  I 
was  the  sort  as  would  make  a  home 
happy.  And  I  says,  '  Not  I ' ;  and  he 
says,  '  If  the  funeral  wasn't  on  my  mind,  I 
could  stand  here  talking  to  you  all  day ' ; 
and  I  says,  'Oh,  Mr.  Tatley!  I'm  sure 
I'm  nothing  to  look  at ' ;  and  he  says, 
'  What's  looks  in  the  mother  of  a  family?  ' 
And  I  says,  half-laughin',  '  I'm  not  the 
mother  of  a  family.'  'No,' says  he,  'but 
I  know  a  family  as  you  could  be  a  mother 
to.'  And  then  his  eldest — who  is  just 
turned  eleven  and  is  bandy — came  in  and 
we  didn't  say  no  more." 

"  Poor  Arthur !  "  said  Rose. 

Georgiana's  under-lip  began  to  twitch 
and  she  smoothed  her  apron — as  though 
that  movement  could  calm  the  agitation 
of  her  mind. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  think  about  him, 
ma'am,"  she   answered  ;  "  it's  quite   bad 


In  which  a  Few  are  Found  Faithful*    281 

enough  to  wake  up  in  the  morning  and  to 
feel  a  holler  feeling  in  your  side,  as  if 
your  heart  had  been  hacked  out.  I  used 
to  be  very  fond  o'  thinking,  once,  but 
now,  when  I  am  alone,  I  says  over  hymns 
to  myself — '  A  few  more  years  shall  roll,' 
and  '  O  Paradise  !  O  Paradise ! '  Then  if 
Susan  finds  me  croi-ing,  she  knows  it's  the 
sad  words  I'm  croi-ing  over  and  no  young 
man." 

She  turned  away  as  she  spoke,  and 
looked  out  of  the  window. 

"There's  Mr.  Edward,  ma'am,"  she 
said,  and,  with  averted  face,  left  the 
room. 

Rose  murmured  a  little  prayer  that  all 
might  be  well  with  her  brother,  and  has- 
tened down  the  stairs  to  meet  him.  His 
countenance  was  radiant,  and  he  embraced 
her  with  all  the  boisterous  affection  of 
his  school  days. 

"Three  cheers !"  he  cried,  and  fairly 
lifted  her  off  her  feet.     She  was  a  small 


282  The  Herb-Moon. 

woman,  and  was  not  much  heavier  than  a 
girl  of  fourteen. 

"  Three  cheers  !  "  he  cried  again.  He 
pulled  her  into  the  sitting-room,  where 
he  threw  himself  far  back  on  the  hard 
sofa,  crossed  his  legs,  and  put  his  arms 
behind  his  head. 

"  She  has  promised  to  wait,"  he  said  ; 
"  Chloe  has  promised  to  wait.  She  re- 
fused that  ass  Camelot  last  night." 

Each  member  of  the  small  household 
at  Wrestle's  Farm  had  a  word  to  offer 
on  the  subject  of  Miss  Chloe  Crecy's 
sudden  decision.  Susan  maintained  that 
"  looks  had  won  the  day."  Georgiana 
sighed,  and  said  "  any  girl  could  be  true 
if  she  had  a  comfortable  home  and  no 
living  to  get."  Adam  was  disposed  to 
think  that  the  heiress  had  been  won  over 
by  "gab" — a  power  which  he  himself 
had  certainly  found  irresistible  when 
Susan  used  to  court  him  at  the  hay-mak- 
ing.    Rose,  who   said   nothing,  took,  se- 


In  which  a  Few  are  Found  Faithful.    283 

cretly,  the  greater  part  of  Edward's 
happiness  as  a  miraculous  answer  to  her 
own  prayers — and  who  shall  say  that  she 
was  mistaken  ?  It  was  because  she  had 
seen  so  many  prayers  fulfilled  that  she 
feared  to  make  frequent  petitions.  But 
while  she  saw  the  accomplishment  of 
her  entreaty,  she  did  not  forget  its  terms. 
She  had  chosen  Edward's  welfare  before 
her  own,  and  God  seems  never  to  reject 
a  self-sacrifice.  He  accepts  what  is  of- 
fered Him,  and  requires  it  often  with 
usury.  Rose  knew  this  as  she  smiled 
on  Edward's  eager  bliss.  She  delivered 
Mrs.  Harrowby's  message,  but  even  while 
she  told  it,  a  telegram  from  London  sum- 
moned her  to  Cavendish  Square. 

"  Perhaps  she  has  changed  her  mind," 
said  Edward. 

Rose  shook  her  head  and  did  not  name 
her  fear.  She  remembered  that  last  faint 
look  on  Mrs.  Harrowby's  face.  Though 
she   left   Ottley  by  the    mail   the   same 


284  The  Herb-Moon. 

night,  she  reached  London  next  day  too 
late.  The  blinds  of  the  house  were  all 
down — excluding  the  sunlight — for  Mrs. 
Harrowby  had  not  been  called  that 
morning  and  still  slept. 


CHAPTER  XDC 

The  Last* 

MRS.  HARROWBY  had  altered  her  will 
on  the  night  before  her  death,  and  she 
left  three-fourths  of  her  large  fortune  to 
be  divided  equally  between  Rose  Arden 
and  Edward  Banish,  the  children  of  her 
dearly-loved  friend,  the  late  Edward 
Banish,  Esq.,  Q.C.  The  remaining  fourth 
was  bequeathed  to  Sir  Harry  Blythe. 
This  testament  was,  of  course,  contested 
by  several  relatives,  and  great  sums  of 
money  were  spent  in  proving  that  Rose 
was  neither  an  adventuress  nor  a  witch. 
The  case  might  have  dragged  on  for 
many  months  and  become  a  cause  ce'lebre, 
but  for  the  frightful  distraction  which 
suddenly  presented  itself   to  the    public 


286  The  Herb-Moon. 

mind  in  the  shape  of  the  Indian  Mutiny. 
Robsart  was  indeed  doomed  to  learn  the 
secret  of  endurance.  Rose's  suffering 
during  that  terrible  period  may  not  be 
told.  She  became  housekeeper  to  Ed- 
ward and  Chloe,  and  spent  her  new 
income  mainly  on  her  sister-in-law's 
pleasures.  The  marriage  was,  in  many 
senses,  fortunate,  and  as  for  Edward's 
success — is  it  not  known  ?  Have  we  not 
heard  his  light  operas  and  his  tragic 
songs?  Have  we  not  said  that  but  for 
his  prosperity  he  might  have  been  our 
English  Mozart  ?  Rose,  however,  had 
paid  such  a  price  for  his  happiness,  that, 
being  a  true  woman,  she  became  a  Philis- 
tine in  her  judgment  of  his  art.  So  long 
as  he  was  well  and  contented,  she  thought 
it  absurd  to  worry  about  the  weak  or- 
chestration of  a  Symphony  in  D.  Her 
pretty  auburn  hair  turned  gray,  and  when 
she  attended  a  dinner  party  given  in 
honor  of  Sir  Harry  Blythe  and  his  bride 


The  Last.  287 

(the  widow  of  Lord  Lamister),  her  lady- 
ship made  a  loud  comment  in  the  drawing- 
room  to  the  effect  that  "  Mrs.  Arden  was 
the  woman  who  had  set  her  cap  at  poor 
Harry.  As  if  she  could  have  had  the 
least  chance,  etc.,  etc.  And  her  tricks 
were  so  transparent." 

Even  of  such  thickness  are  this  world's 
transparencies ! 

Two  anxious  years  passed  by  before 
Robsart  returned  to  England.  He  had 
won  wounds,  experience,  and  the  Victoria 
Cross ;  but  he  found  poor  Rose's  fingers 
too  thin  for  the  Indian  rings  he  had 
brought  with  him  to  place  upon  them. 
When  the  sorely-tried  soul  wept  her  joy 
on  his  breast,  she  sobbed  a  question  about 
Arthur  Venus.  (Georgiana  had  married 
Mr.  Tatley  and  become  a  shrew.) 

"Arthur  Venus,"  said  Robsart,  "has 
a  wooden  leg  and  half  his  head  shaved 
off.     And    I    suppose   you   wish,  for   his 


288  The  Herb-Moon. 

mother's  sake,  that  /  had  the  wooden  leg 
instead  ! " 

Most  of  us  are  aware  that  when  Colo- 
nel Robsart,  V.  C. ,  retired  from  the 
army,  he  represented  Ottley  in  the  House 
of  Commons.  And  perhaps  some  of  us 
have  met  his  wife,  and  wondered  why  he 
did  not  choose  a  brilliant-looking  woman 
with  a  Presence.  For  if  you  have  prayed 
many  years  under  the  Herb-Moon,  your 
figure  does  not  look  stylish  to  the  vulgar. 
But  Robsart,  who,  it  is  said,  will  be  in 
the  next  Cabinet,  and  is  moreover  a  very 
handsome  man,  seems  to  carry  marital 
devotion  to  the  point  of  idolatry — a  mis- 
take which  those  distinguished  beauties, 
Lady  Shawcrosse  and  the  Duchess  of 
Man,  find  inexcusable. 

But  you  and  I,  my  reader,  may  under- 
stand him  better. 


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